


there isn't a waking moment where i'm not thinking of you

by literally_jams



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 03:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18792247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literally_jams/pseuds/literally_jams
Summary: the harry & peter romcom everyone deserves. harry moves back to queens after nine years in london and becomes friends with gwen. he finds peter, too.





	1. re-collision

**Author's Note:**

> can you believe i wrote a whole 23k fic... cause i cant!!!! i started this bad boy last september and i finished it in MAY. thank u to @merrinpippy loml for sticking w/ me thru this and betaing like half ot it because thats when i stopped writing for like 3 months then i came back to finish it and was too excited to publish so the second half is unproofread and betaed lol. i hope u enjoy this and point out any mistakes 2 me and criticize it cause that's why im here babey. i didn't tag this slow burn cause its not that painful it's very much a romcom cause they're smitten from the beginning :/ also i wrote this as like a movie more than a real book like.. i imagined the fic being a movie. anyway on to the gays

after almost a decade, harry osborn packs his bags, leaves london, and heads for queens, new york.

 

new york is fast and loud and rambunctious. it’s everything he hated london for. it’s everything he loves new york for. everything fits a little differently when you’re in your hometown. harry is right where he belongs.

 

that’s not what he’s telling himself right now, a starbucks cup in his hand, trying to push his way out of the crowded street of manhattan to meet gwen stacy. he’s been in new york for a month now, and lately he’s been hanging out with gwen stacy, the only bearable person at oscorp.

 

he’s already late, did that thing where he sleeps through his alarm and has a crisis in the shower. typical harry osborn.

 

harry’s double late when some guy crashes straight into him, coffee soaking into the man’s white shirt. he loves the universe today.

 

“oh man, i’m so sorry- i didn’t mean to,” the stranger stutters and harry does have some decency left in him usually, he’s the type of guy to sort out the grocery carts in the parking lot, but today this guy just caught him at the wrong time and his decency turns into a hard eye roll and an “are you kidding me?”

 

harry looks up and- holy shit.

 

peter parker is in the busy street with him, shirt stained with cold brew coffee, black blazer over him and messenger bag hung from his shoulder. peter parker, his childhood best friend, who belongs in the repressed memories section of harry’s brain, tucked away and intentionally forgotten like most things before the move.

 

he looks completely different than when harry last saw him a lifetime ago, but he could recognize that smile anywhere. harry definitely has thought about calling peter, but what do you say to your best friend from ten years ago? peter’s personality couldn’t be confined to the skyscrapers of new york, harry was sure he would have made it big in la or seattle or anywhere but here.

 

harry loves new york, because it fits a man who belongs in fitted suits and grey buildings and grey smiles. fits a man like him. even from the start, harry knew that peter was colorful and explosive and bright. new york has grey skies. peter parker was the sun.

 

“harry fuckin’ osborn!” peter exclaims, looking down at him.

 

“peter!” harry says just as enthusiastically. he eyes him up and down. “you look….you look good.” peter got hot, harry thinks. he’s as tall as ever, brown hair in a neat peak on top of his head, long black slack covered legs leading into shiny oxfords.

 

“thanks!” peter grins, not noticing how starstruck harry is. “i’m going for a job interview, at uh- the photography place on 84th.”

 

harry has no idea what place he’s talking about. “oh cool, i was supposed to meet my friend like,” he looks at his watch. “10 minutes ago.” 

 

peter laughs and harry wouldn’t mind hearing that again. “guess we both gotta go.”

 

“wait- your shirt. you can’t go into a job interview like that.” harry osborn, king of corporate america makes an appearance.

 

“shit,” peter looks down onto his shirt, now stained with coffee. “um,”

 

harry thrusts a white dress shirt into peter’s hands. 

 

peter looks up at him, confused.

 

he shrugs, closing his bag. “i had a spare.”

 

peter looks like he wants to ask, but he doesn’t press. “thanks,” he smiles.

 

“anytime.”

 

peter’s smile turns into a full blown grin. “see you around, osborn!” he says smiling, backing away. “thanks for the shirt!” he yells. then he turns around and runs the other direction, leaving harry in a crowded street. he can hear his shoes hit the pavement.

 

wow. gwen is really going to kill him.

 

“oh hey, harry!” gwen says, waving him over when he walks into the cafe. she doesn’t look too mad.

 

“hey-“ he starts, sitting down, apology on the tip of his tongue.

 

“is your fucking clock broken?” there she is! good old gwen. “hey, is three good?” she asks, acting out their texts. “yeah, three is good!” she lowers her voice to mimic harry. “bitch, what the fuck? you could have said that three wasn’t good.” she huffs, leaning back into her chair.

 

“okay one, that is not what i sound like.” harry says

 

“oh sorry, did i forget the ‘i’m harry osborn and i wipe my tears on hundred dollar bills” part?” gwen rolls her eyes.

 

“yeah!” he says, making her laugh. “anyway, i’m really sorry i’m late, i spilled coffee on peter.” 

 

“you had coffee before you went to a coffee shop?” she questions. well, yeah he did. harry is both a multimillionaire and stupid. “wait, peter who?” she changes topics quickly.

 

“parker, we’re family friends.” used to be family friends. used to be best friends. used to- harry doesn’t let himself complete that thought.

 

“oh shit, you’re kidding right?” don’t let her pink peacoat and baby blue scarf fool you, every other word gwen says is a swear. “he’s my roommate!”

 

harry blinks at her. “he’s your what, now?”

 

“peter parker? tall as fuck? brown hair? photographer?” she bombards.

 

“yeah.” harry confirms. “that’s him.”

 

“that’s my roommate.” she takes a bite out of a muffin. “small world. hey, didn’t you live in london for like, ten years?”

 

“nine,” harry says out of habit.

 

“cool. at least you know more than one person in new york now, your lonely ass doesn’t have to hang out with me all the time anymore.”

 

harry laughs. “you’d die without me.” he  _ does _ know people in new york, businessmen and bankers and lawyers, just not friends. 

 

“die of happiness.” she smiles. this is easy. this is friendship. this is better than anything he had in london.

 

“shut up,” he laughs at her. 

 

a week later, harry slides into the passenger seat of gwen’s red honda civic. “where are we going?” harry asks.

 

“it’s a surprise!” she answers without looking at him, pressing buttons on the radio screen to change the music.

 

after two hours of singing along to carly rae jepsen, they drive past a sign labeled ‘six flags amusement park’ in white letters against bright green.

 

“are we going to six flags?” harry asks.

 

“no, we’re going to hooters,” gwen rolls her eyes. “yes, we’re going to six flags!” 

 

“i haven’t been here in like,” he trails off. “ever.”

 

“you’ve never been?”

 

“i mean like, to amusement parks yeah, but never to this six flags.” dad wasn’t too fond doing anything but work.

 

gwen finds a parking spot and they walk in together, harry clinging onto his coat tighter to fight the chilly september air. 

 

harry should’ve known, gwen didn’t drive them all the way out here just to go to six flags. 

 

peter is in front of them a few yards away, looking at his phone over a stick of cotton candy bigger than his head. 

 

gwen cups her hands around her mouth, then she shouts, “parker!” 

 

to which peter jumps at and harry smiles. he’s wearing a brown leather jacket over a red flannel and blue jeans and beat up converse. he looks….. he looks good. harry leaves it at that, suddenly aware of his arms hanging stupidly at his side.

 

“hey, gwen!” he says, coming over to them. “harry!” he smiles.

 

harry returns the smile.

 

“hey, peter. didn’t expect to see you here.” he says casually, coolly, harry osborn is suave and definitely does not freak out in front of hot boys. 

 

“i didn’t know you were coming either,” he says, smiling. he’s always smiling. “or else i would have dressed nicer.” he adds.

 

“no, no, no,” harry says quickly, the filter from his brain to his mouth malfunctioning. “i mean, um,” he stumbles. “you look fine. you look great, actually.” harry osborn is suave and definitely does not freak out in front of hot boys. right.

 

he looks at gwen for help but feels betrayed when she’s biting her lip to keep her laughter in. 

 

“thanks! you look really good too, i like your scarf.” peter says, referring to the soft grey material wrapped around his neck.

 

  1. so that’s how to compliment people without looking like an idiot? harry takes mental notes. “thanks.” he replies.



 

“okay, cool, can we go on some roller coasters now?” gwen says impatiently, but she’s smiling at harry and peter, who are standing way too close to each other.

 

“yeah, yeah. i wanna almost die on a roller coaster or else there was no point in coming here.” harry says, not really sure if he’s joking or not.

 

“do you wanna go on kingda ka?” she asks the both of them, looking at the world’s tallest roller coaster and pointing to it.

 

“hell yes.” peter says, following her line of vision. he sounds awed and when harry looks at peter, he is too. another attempt to shut that thought out dies this time.

 

they make their way to that side of the park as fast as they can, but both harry and peter keep getting distracted by the lights and other rides.

 

“oh my god, harry, look at that.” peter says, tugging on harry’s black coat. he’s pointing to small carts that are designed to look like beetles with faces that are straight from hell. slight discomfort aside, the pink flower in the middle is actually kinda cute. it’s surprisingly busy for september, so they can see short kids with their parents on the ride, spinning slowly around the flower.

 

it makes harry long for something he never had, but it lasts for a second. “those beetles are fucking creepy.”

 

“yeah but like, look at the kids. they’re cute.” peter responds, looking at a man that picked up his son and is spinning him around. harry files that away for later.

 

“yeah.” harry agrees softly. “let’s go,” he says, wrapping his fingers around peter’s leather covered wrist without thinking. he’s about to let go when peter smiles at harry and walks with him. he’s burning up at every patch of skin that’s touching peter’s jacket.

 

harry lets go of peter when they reach gwen in the line, and when harry glances to peter for a reaction and sees none, he’s stuck between relief and a little hurt. he settles for nothing at all.

 

when they get to the front of the line, harry spots a problem. “hey, guys? there’s only two seats in a row.”

 

peter opens his mouth to respond, but gwen quickly rushes out, “you guys go ahead, i’ll just go as a single. maybe i’ll get paired with a cute girl.” gwen winks.

 

“you sure?” peter asks.

 

“yeah! i’ll be fine. you guys just go.” gwen smiles brightly and pushes them towards the ride.

 

“thanks, gwen.” harry says over his shoulder. gwen winks again.

 

peter gets into his seat. “i gotta let you know, i’m a screamer.” peter says nonchalantly, strapping himself in.

 

harry blinks before he realizes. “oh like- on the roller coaster you’re- not like….yeah. that’s fine.”

 

“what did you think i meant?” peter has a knowing smile on his face.

 

thankfully, the ride starts.

 

peter was right, he screams the entire ride, while harry laughs the whole time. it’s over quickly, and peter has to lean on harry when they walk out. neither of them are complaining. 

 

peter keeps walking but harry pulls them back. “look,” he whispers.

 

in front of them is gwen talking to a black haired girl.

 

“okay, tea,” peter responds. harry laughs. “can we get food?”

 

harry stops to think about it just to see the girl and gwen interact for a second longer before shrugging. “yeah, okay.”

 

they’re sharing a plate of fried dough with powdered sugar, though it looks like powdered sugar with fried dough on peter’s end.

 

“how do you eat that much sugar without like, throwing up?” harry questions.

 

peter swallows. “the feeling of my arteries clogging with the combination of an overwhelming amount of sugar mixed with oil really hits the spot.”

 

harry snorts, inhaling a little bit of powdered sugar and peter laughs at him. 

 

“hold on,” peter says, after the laughter dies down. he moves closer to harry. “you have a little,” peter wipes his thumb across the tip of harry’s nose. “there.” he pulls back, thumb now white with sugar from harry’s face. he wipes his finger on a tissue.

 

harry is the ceo of oscorp. he talks for a living and he always knows the right words to say. harry has a reputation. harry is famous. he comes up with witty answers on the spot from reporters. but in this moment, he could not figure out what to say for the life of him.

 

he decides on a mumbled “thanks.” 

 

“hey!” a voice breaks them from their moment.

 

“gwen!” peter says. harry notices peter has this thing where he can pretend that some things just didn’t happen when harry is still paralyzed about them. 

 

harry catches up to them. “who was that?” he smiles knowingly.

 

“felicia,” she replies enthusiastically. “we sat together on the roller coaster. i got her number.”

 

peter whistles. “damn, stacy got game.”

 

“you could use some,” she says, playfully hitting peter in the shoulder.

 

“i have game!” peter exclaims. “harry, tell gwen i have game!”

 

they look at harry expectedly. he pauses for a moment. “peter has less game than a twelve year old who plays fortnite.”

 

gwen laughs hysterically, as peter says, “wow, my own two best friends, ganging up on me.”

 

harry’s grin falters only for a second at  _ best friend _ . peter lets himself love at the same time harry doesn’t believe in it.

 

they mess around for the next few hours, gwen buying all the roller coaster photos to make fun of them. she takes a picture of an especially embarrassing one where peter is red in the face, mouth gaping open and harry’s blonde hair is straight up. she posts it on her snapchat story with the caption, ‘best friends!! x’ and in retaliation, harry posts a video where he’s zooming into gwen’s face as she stuffs a plate of nachos into her mouth. weirdly plastic, neon, nacho cheese and all. 

 

when the sun is about to set, gwen finds felicia in line for the ferris wheel. she runs over, leaving harry and peter behind. 

 

“you wanna do that?” harry asks him nonchalantly, but his heart betrays him and beats a little faster. maybe the fried dough has finally caught up to him. 

peter looks at the huge ferris wheel, lights flickering and changing colors as the wheel turns. the sky is still a warm blue, though the sun is low. he looks back to harry with a grin. “of course.”

 

the compartment is more intimate than harry thought it would be, their legs pressed together when they get seated. 

 

they go around and around, harry observing the whole park. there’s flashing lights advertising alliterated ride names and joy-filled screams, there is the scent of frying oil in the air. the sun is giving everything a warm yellow tint. harry looks to peter and he feels his heart beat against his chest. peter’s skin is drenched in golden light, his hair softly moving against the subtle wind. his jaw is defined and the curve of his nose is soft. harry can’t name what he feels, all he knows is that his stomach swoops in time with the ferris wheel and he’s aware of his heartbeat. 

 

“it’s pretty, isn’t it?” peter says quietly, looking down at spinning attractions and cotton candy mountains.

 

“gorgeous.” harry breathes out, looking at peter. marble statues of greek heroes have nothing on him. 

 

harry is brought back to the ground both literally and metaphorically, the fog of mesmerized amazement his head was in clearing as the ferris wheel grinds to a halt. 

 

they get out of the cart, spotting gwen still on the ride with felicia, talking animatedly. the sun has set by now, only fluorescent lights illuminate their path home. 

 

“it was nice to see you again,” peter murmurs, voice laced with drowsiness. this type of tired always brings out the honest in people. 

 

“likewise. i hope you won’t be a stranger?” harry says, needing confirmation that this wasn’t just a one time thing and their lives have collided again and this time, harry won’t run.

 

“not anymore.” peter has a dopey grin on his face. “can’t get rid of me that easily, not again.” 

 

there’s no bite to it, he’s just joking around, he’s solidifying his presence in harry’s life, but harry still feels a twinge of sorrow.  _ i know, _ he wants to say.  _ i’m sorry. i didn’t want to leave you. i didn’t want to go. _

 

he says nothing.

 

“i’m so tired,” peter yawns, stretching his arms and listening to his joints crack. his shirt and jacket ride up slightly, revealing a patch of pale skin and harry struggles to keep his eyes from drifting. “can i- do you want my number? for future meetups and stuff,” his hair is messy from constant ruffling and the wind. 

 

“yeah, yeah.” harry says, his mouth dry. “that’d be nice.” 

 

they switch phones, and harry looks down at the new contact. peter’s put himself in as ‘peter’ with the rock horns emoji followed by the wink emoji with the tongue sticking out. he’s taken a quick selfie as the profile picture, and harry didn’t even notice when he did that. it’s meant to be funny, behind him is the bright yellow of a food stand, and he crossed his eyes and threw up a blurry peace sign. it’s cute.

 

“just harry osborn? with capitals?” peter asks. 

 

“creative, i know.” harry shrugs.

 

peter looks down on his phone and taps away, then lifts his hand to take a quick picture of harry.

 

“hey!” harry complains, bringing up a hand to block out the camera.

 

“there, look.” peter holds up his phone. the contact’s changed to “harry!!” with the dizzy star emoji. the picture is mostly of harry’s splayed hand trying to cover the camera, but there’s part of his hair visible at the top, and part of his grin shown at the bottom.

 

“what are you guys doing?” gwen says, smiling from ear to ear. 

 

“peter’s taking ugly pictures of me,” harry explains.

 

“har-” peter tries to cut in.

 

“all pictures of you are ugly,” gwen laughs jokingly.

 

“exactly!” harry responds. “see, peter?”

 

gwen hits him. “you’re not supposed to agree, dipshit!”

 

“ow!” he rubs his shoulder where gwen punched him.

 

“okay, gwen, look at this picture.” peter holds out his phone for gwen to see. “not ugly, right?”

 

“holy shit, harry,” gwen says, grabbing peter’s phone. “you look cute as fuck. if i was straight, i’d tap that.” 

 

harry tilts his head and blinks before laughing. “thanks! feeling’s mutual.”

 

“see? i was right!” peter pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “you look cute.”

 

“thanks,” harry says sincerely, pink tingeing his cheeks, noticing how he immediately turns to jelly for peter and he reminds himself to stop before he fucks it all up again like he always does.

 

gwen looks at the both of them. “time to go home? i’m about to pass out.” 

 

“same,” peter says. 

 

they walk to the exit and stop at peter’s car. “that’s my stop.”

 

“bye, peter! get home safe!” gwen tells him.

 

“thanks! this was fun.” peter fumbles for his keys, unlocking his car. “i’ll see you around?” he says to harry.

 

“definitely.” harry can’t help the wide smile on his face.

 

the car chirps, and peter opens the door. the lights turn on inside. “bye, guys.”

 

harry waves as he and gwen walk to her car.

 

once they get in, harry driving this time, gwen turns to him. “what was that all about?”

 

“what do you mean?” he keeps his eyes on the road.

 

“you and peter?” she elaborates. “the picture thing? see you around?  _ definitely? _ ” she keeps questioning. “kinda gay, harry.”

 

harry opens his mouth and closes it. “there’s nothing going on.”

 

“you’re a good liar most of the time, harry. but sometimes you’re such a useless twink.” 

 

“okay but like, so are you, so shut the hell up.” harry pulls into a starbucks drive through.

 

“i never said i wasn’t! also starbucks at,” she looks at the digital clock below the radio. “8:27?”

 

“yeah, i’m  _ driving _ .” he adds, “for two hours.”

 

gwen shrugs. “fair. can you get me something?”

 

the whack from gwen is deserved this time, when harry says in a mocking tone, “starbucks at 8:27, gwen?”

 

he gets her a chai latte and a macchiato for himself.

 

they drive in silence for a while, the only sound being the radio and the whoosh of passing cars.

 

“he was my best friend.” harry says quietly.

 

gwen hums, “peter?”

 

“yeah. he was my only friend when i was a kid.” harry finds it harder to stop talking. ”i wasn’t like, a loner when i lived in london, it just. i didn’t know what i was doing there. i felt like i had to come back.” 

 

gwen hums. 

 

“i didn’t,” harry starts again, words flowing through his teeth. “i didn’t expect to see him again. i forgot he was even here. you know when someone brings up something stupid from your childhood like the jonas brothers or whatever and you forgot they existed but it all comes back when you’re reminded about it? that’s what it feels like.” 

 

gwen hums again. “if you call the jonas brothers stupid again, i will key your pretty little mercedes.”

 

harry apologizes while laughing and that’s the end of it. they don’t talk about peter again. 

 

harry drops gwen off at her apartment.

 

“no, i can drive you home,” she says sleepily. 

 

“it’s not that far of a walk,” harry argues.

 

“yes it is.” she glares.

 

“i don’t want you to fall asleep at the wheel.” 

 

“harry.” she says in the middle of a yawn.

 

“i can walk.” he repeats. “have a good night, gwen.” 

 

gwen sighs, then she smiles at him. “goodnight, harry. text me when you get home, okay?” 

 

once she gets into the building, harry turns around and realizes that his apartment is a mile away and that it’s pitch black. he sighs, pulling out his earbuds, turning on some george ezra. he walks. it’s going to be a long night.

 

he’s humming along to the song, hands in the pockets of his black jeans. he’s been walking for ten minutes, and he’s starting to actually enjoy this walk. the crisp air does wonders for him and walking clears his mind, which keeps coming back to peter.

 

he’s just hot. harry will get over it. he can think peter’s hot and not have feelings. he can distance himself from this.

 

harry walks past a dumpster before a figure drops onto it, one knee and their hand on the lid, the other foot propped up. harry pulls out an earbud. “spider-man?”

 

“hey, mr. osborn!” spider-man says. “it’s pitch black out here, what are you doing?”   
  


“i could say the same for you,” harry pauses his music and pulls out the other earbud. what is  _ spider-man _ , new york’s hero, doing here? talking to him? at fuck o’clock in the middle of the night?

 

“crime never sleeps,” his voice seems a little familiar, but harry can’t really place it. come to think of it, everything about spider-man is a little familiar, and it bothers harry that he can’t really figure spider-man out. it might just be the reality that spider-man is real. he’s seen him in photos and videos, of course, but seeing him in the flesh does a number on harry. 

 

“so you don’t either?” harry raises an eyebrow.

 

“i guess not,” he laughs. “anyway, mr. osborn, do you want a ride home?”

 

harry looks around. “you got a car here?”

 

“no, but,” spider-man shoots out a web. “i got these.” the web lands on a brick building behind harry.

 

“you wanna swing me home?”

 

“i mean, technically, yeah.”

 

“some people would call an uber,” shit, how come he didn’t think of an  _ uber _ home? he’s delirious. 

 

spider-man feigns hurt. “you think i’m ‘some people,” mr. osborn?” he puts a red spandex covered hand to his heart.

 

“harry.” he corrects.

 

spider-man hums in question and tilts his head. 

 

“mr. osborn is for rich assholes. my friends call me harry.” 

 

“it’s nice that you consider me a broke friend, harry.”

 

he laughs. “and you are? just spider-man?”

 

harry’s noticed that spider-man is a very animated talker, hands moving around frantically like he’s got something to prove as if his peppy voice wasn’t enough. “spider-man, spidey, mr. man, pretty boy, call me whatever you want.” if he wasn’t wearing a mask, harry was sure that spider-man would have a shit eating grin on his face.

 

harry laughs, “okay mr. man, wanna swing me home?”

 

“i thought you’d never ask.” spider-man’s arm is around harry’s waist, and suddenly they’re in the air.

 

harry feels like he’s back at six flags, he can hear the wind and the  _ thwip-thwip _ sound of spider-man’s webs, and they’re so, so high up. harry looks down and his heart speeds up, faster than it already is. they’re swinging quickly, down then back up, down then back up.

 

“holy fuck!” harry screams. his arms end up around spider-man’s neck, legs around his waist. how did that happen? he’s pressed intimately close to spider-man, behind the red and blue spandex, he can see the lights in the sky and in the windows of the skyscrapers that aren’t above his head this time, but rather right in front of him. the webbed costume feels interesting to harry’s fingers, he keeps touching it like a kid running their hands through textures that are unexplainably satisfying. 

 

“i’m usually not this easy, you know,” harry quips, after catching his breath and realizing that wow, he really is hugging spider-man and they’re thousands of feet up in the air.

 

spider-man laughs, and in a moment of weakness and vulnerability, under the dark sky of queens, in the air with a superhero, mind filled with muddled confusion and a hint of desperation, harry osborn falls in love. 

 

the moment ends as quickly as it began. 

 

“you’re a gentleman, of course.” spider-man starts. “need to be wined and dined first, right?”

 

“of course,” harry mirrors. 

 

spider-man takes his right arm off harry’s waist and replaces it with his left, using the right to keep webbing them across queens and the left to support harry. 

 

in that quick moment, harry yelps. “don’t fucking drop me!”

 

“i’m not going to!” 

 

harry hooks his chin onto spider-man’s shoulder and he enjoys the ride. new york is breathtaking. he sees the glimmer of the ocean now, multiple street lights illuminating the dark water. 

 

they end up on the roof of harry’s apartment building, spider-man walking gracefully to stop them. he puts harry down and it isn’t as awkward as harry thought it would be. 

 

“thank you,” harry says, looking into white plastic eyes. 

 

“it was no problem. couldn’t have you getting hurt on my watch.”

 

“do you want to come in for some coffee?” harry invites, and he’s just as surprised as spider-man.

 

“what?” it’s his turn to be caught off-guard, to be anything but snarky and confident.

 

“do you want to come in, to my apartment, to have a cup of coffee?” harry says, slowly. “it’s the least i can do.”

 

“oh no, harry,” spider-man politely declines, rambling. “you don’t have to- i don’t need- thank you, it’s very nice of you but i-”

 

“crime never sleeps and neither do you, right? how are you going to fight crime when you’re tired from swinging across the city to bring some dude home?”

 

spider-man doesn’t have a response. harry’s got him right where he wants him. 

 

he turns around and starts walking to the door that leads down into the building. harry looks over his shoulder. “you coming, spidey?”

 

spider-man follows silently. 

 

they walk down the stairs to end up at his door, the number 817 in black metal against the white door. harry gets his keys out, opening the door. 

 

“this is my place,” harry says casually, toeing off his shoes. it isn’t minimalist white, barely decorated. it’s lived in. it’s homey. there’s a bookshelf against a white wall, a smart black sectional in front of a wide flat-screen tv, a big matching black bean bag is slumped next to it. there’s tall green plants in corners of the apartment.

 

spider-man walks in and he can see more of the white marble kitchen, warm lights hanging low above the island. there’s a clear fridge in the island reserved for alcohol, along with a wire cart for glass bottles with labels like hennessy and johnnie walker black label. 

 

“you like?” harry asks nonchalantly, turning on his coffee machine. it’s a large machine, square and with multiple black buttons and knobs.

 

“yeah. it’s really nice.” spider-man doesn’t pull out a stool, but rather sits on the island.  spider-man is comically out of place with his jarring red and blue in comparison to harry’s sleek black and white apartment.

 

harry smiles, back turned to him. “foam?” he reaches up into a cupboard, pulling out sugar. the sound of coffee beans grinding in the silver machine is their background music. he has water heating up on the stove.

 

“no that’s fine, i don’t want to give you more trouble than i already have,” spider-man gets his bones broken regularly for new york, but thinks that a cup of coffee is too much trouble. 

 

harry pours milk into a frothing pitcher. “isn’t it trouble making you take me home at almost midnight?” 

 

“it’s my job.” spider-man says. “you can’t pull the ‘you took me home’ card every time i don’t want something.”

 

“every time you refuse something you do want.” harry corrects. “why do you do that?” he pours the water into the machine and places a wide, white mug underneath the spout.

 

“do what?” harry sees right through spider-man, lie after lie. 

 

“think that everything people do for you is inconvenient to them. this is literally the least i could do for you. hot or cold?”

 

“hot. i don’t need payment.”

 

“this isn’t that,” the machine drips, drips, drips black coffee. harry puts the pitcher full of milk under the frother, swirling the liquid around.

 

“then what is it?” every time spider-man talks, a hundred new questions form in harry’s head.

 

“a thank you to my friendly neighborhood spider-man. no one’s really done this for you?”

 

spider-man shakes his head. 

 

“honored to be your first friend,” harry takes the mug from the machine. “sugar?” he looks back at the man sitting on his countertop. 

 

“two spoons, please.” spider-man nods. “why are you so nice to me?” his voice vulnerable, sad, quiet. it makes harry’s heart hurt.

 

“i’m only an asshole to people that deserve it.” he hears spider-man laugh. harry stirs sugar into the mug. “you deserve nice things. this city loves you, don’t you see?”

 

he pauses. “this city needs me.”

 

“you need this city,” harry realizes, pouring foam into the coffee. he hands it to spider-man.

 

“thanks,” spider-man peels off half his mask, taking a sip. “this is maybe the best coffee i’ve ever had.” 

 

“thanks,” harry returns. spider-man is lonely, he thinks. he saves the city, but who saves him?

 

harry jumps up on the countertop next to him. “does anyone know who you are?”

 

“no.” spider-man says firmly. he reminds harry of himself in london. surrounded by people, surrounded by neon lights in sweaty clubs, but he’s alone, alone, alone. 

 

“maybe you should tell someone. being lonely is hard.” harry tucks his right ankle under his left thigh.

 

spider-man shrugs. “i should probably go.” he hands the mug back to harry, who takes it. he was able to scare  _ spider-man _ off. emotional vulnerability gets all of us, even if you’re a superhero. 

 

“looking for cats stuck in trees?” harry says, smiling. he lets him go. but this isn’t the end, harry hopes it isn’t.

 

“you guessed it. maybe you should be spider-man.” he jumps off the countertop, pulling his mask down. “thanks for the coffee.”

 

“anytime.”

 

harry watches spider-man walk onto his balcony and swing off, towards the darkness, away from harry and his white marble kitchen. he’s still sitting on the countertop.

 

he finally jumps off after a while, placing the mug in his sink and filling it with water to wash tomorrow. he goes to bed, thinking about how maybe he and spider-man aren’t that different. 


	2. open hours for my feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the gwen/harry dynamic goes too hard. i wrote the whole of this fic before publishing in parts so now i have no good thoughts to say

a few days later, harry wakes up to light pouring into his apartment, directly into his eyes. it’s 9:00, his clock displays in green. he rolls out of bed and stretches, listening to his joints pop. 

 

he takes a shower, blow dries his hair, chooses an outfit to wear, walks into the kitchen for breakfast. the sun makes his apartment bright. harry’s wearing black cropped pants, a soft black blazer with an olive green shirt underneath. he eats a bagel while scrolling through twitter. typical morning. 

 

he forgets about spider-man and how lonely he is. he doesn’t tell anyone about the night spider-man sat on his island and whispered sad words. harry tells gwen everything, but this is- this isn’t about him. spider-man wouldn’t want everyone knowing he doesn’t have friends, right? that night seems too intimate to publicize. 

 

he gets a text from gwen.

 

_ gwen’s uglie ass 10:18am]: r u gonna b late to work _

 

_ harry [10:18am]: yea duh lol i hate work oscorp is dumb _

 

_ harry [10:18am]: fuck capitalism bro _

 

_ gwen’s uglie ass [10:19am]: u are capitalism _

 

_ harry [10:19am]: oh wait thats true _

 

_ harry [10:19am]: fuck me then  _

 

_ gwen’s uglie ass [10:20am]: lmfao peter has entered the chat _

 

_ harry [10:21am]: gwen stacy DIE challenge _

 

_ gwen’s uglie ass [10:21am]: thanks <3 _

 

_ gwen’s uglie ass [10:21am]: can u get me coffee tho _

 

_ harry [10:22am]: fuck u _

 

_ gwen’s uglie ass [10:22am]: iced mocha blease _

 

_ harry [10:22am]: no get fucked _

 

_ gwen’s uglie ass [10:23am]: thanks 4 the coffee bb! see u at work :) _

 

harry sighs, getting up. he looks at peter’s contact. before they went home from six flags, he said he wanted to see harry again. he said harry looked cute in that photo. peter said a million things that made something in harry’s chest flutter and he has to bite the inside of his lip to keep himself from grinning.

 

fuck it, he lives alone. he lets himself smile stupidly wide. he lets himself feel. he’s skating on thin ice. 

 

harry had waited three days to say something to peter, constantly typing and erasing, typing and erasing. he didn’t know what time to do it or when his window of opportunity would close. he didn’t want to seem too desperate but he didn’t want to seem disinterested and- his brain is a mess. this is so much more stressful than anything oscorp’s thrown at him. impulsively, he chooses an easy option.

 

_ harry [10:27am]: hey!  _

 

the waiting game begins.

 

he drives to starbucks on the way to work, getting gwen her damn iced mocha and an iced coffee for himself.

 

he’s holding the cardboard tray with one hand, the other in his pocket. his foot tapping impatiently on the oscorp elevator floor.

 

once the doors open with a ‘ding!’ harry steps out, finding gwen’s desk and putting the tray on a clear spot. he pulls over a swivel chair and sits next to her. “morning,” he greets.

 

gwen turns her head. “oh, hey harry!” she picks up her coffee and takes a sip. “thanks,”

 

harry waves a hand dismissively. they make small talk for awhile, harry trying to put off doing actual ceo things.

 

she’s in the middle of talking about something before harry feels his phone buzz. he jumps suddenly and scrambles to look at the notification.

 

_ reminder: dumbass meeting at 11:10 in conference room b _

 

harry deflates. gwen looks at him. 

 

“what the actual fuck was that?” 

 

he meets her gaze. “nothing.”

 

they look down at his phone. she looks back up at him. “you texted peter, huh?”

 

“no!” he denies, too quickly. 

 

“waiting for a text back is literally the most depressing feeling ever.” she puts a hand on his shoulder. “welcome to the real world.”

 

“shut up! i don’t wait for texts back.” he’s harry osborn. people don’t play him, he plays people.

 

“okay, harry,” she humors him.

 

“i have a meeting,” he says pointedly. 

 

twenty minutes into the meeting, he realizes she was right. he put his phone down on the glass table, face up so he can see whenever he gets a notification. he’s been looking at it every four seconds, when he should be paying attention to this powerpoint. harry keeps turning in his swivel chair and twirling his pen, clearly bored out of his mind. 

 

his phone buzzes, showing a candy crush request. harry grits his teeth, running his hand through his hair. it’s dumb how much he wants a reply from peter. he lets his mind wander, thinking about places he could take peter, things he could ask about. it’s been too long since he last saw peter. he saw peter less than a week ago, the logical part of his brain supplies. 

 

after what feels like years, the meeting is finally over and harry almost runs towards the door. someone stops him. the person who presented the powerpoint, a girl named samantha or suzie or something like that.

 

“did you like the presentation, mr. osborn?” she asks, eyes gleaming. 

 

“mhm, yes, very informative,” harry says quickly, making his exit.

 

he just wants to obsessively check his phone in the privacy of his office, is that too much to ask for? 

 

he finally reaches his office, walls made out of glass, decorated with white furniture. harry lays on the couch, changing positions every so often. first he’s lying down, back on the arm of the couch, clipboard against his knees, trying to do paperwork. then he’s laying on his stomach on the floor. he moves to his desk and sits with a leg underneath the other. he finds out writing is hard with his feet propped up against his desk. after that, he swings his leg over the armrest of his chair. he checks his phone too often and gets maybe two forms of paperwork done. 

 

that lasted for about two hours, the rest of harry’s time being used to actually do his job and keep his company in order. he’s pouring himself a glass of scotch on the other side of the room when harry hears his phone buzz. he actually kinda forgot that he was waiting for something. he walks over to the desk, looking down. 

 

_ peter [6:09pm]: hey. sorry about the 8 hr wait, just got off work. wanna get dinner? _

 

harry has no idea how peter does this. he has no clue how peter can be so smooth and make harry, pettiest bitch alive, forgive peter after he waited a whole eight hours for a fourteen word text. harry chokes on his own spit and dies before getting a compliment out. peter can make harry squirm for eight hours then have him agree to a date.

 

wait.

 

not a date. just dinner. 

 

friends can do that!

 

peter is his friend. he can think his friends are gorgeous greek gods, right? that’s fine. it’s all platonic. 

 

they’ll just go to a nice restaurant, harry will order some wine, they’ll laugh and get a little drunk, harry will pay and maybe drive peter home.

 

friends do that. 

 

_ harry [6:14pm]: i’d love to. pick you up in fifteen? _

 

_ peter [6:14pm]: 64 west 84th st. dont be late _

 

_ harry [6:15pm]: dw i’ll get u in my private jet _

 

_ peter [6:15pm]: u hav a private jet? _

 

_ harry [6:15pm]: u dont? _

 

_ harry [6:16pm]: jk lmfao it’s from oscorp technically but i do use it for clout _

 

_ peter [6:16pm]: ohasduogh ‘clout’ r u a fortnite playin soundcloud rapper _

 

_ harry [6:16pm]: “ohasduogh” ok bottom _

 

_ peter [6:17pm]: LMFAOOOO THAT HURT OSBORN _

 

_ harry [6:17pm]: u roasted my jet what was i supposed to do _

 

_ peter [6:18pm]: r u actually getting me in ur jet _

 

_ harry [6:19pm]: no i usually wait until the third date to whip it out but 4 u it might be the second (wink emoji) _

 

_ peter [6:19pm]: why do u say (wink emoij) instead of actually using the wink emoji _

 

_ peter [6:19pm]: where tf r u its cold af _

 

_ harry [6:20pm]: i cant drive when u keep TEXTING me _

 

_ peter [6:20pm]: w/e fine just GET HERE smh _

 

_ harry [6:21pm]: omw GOD _

 

harry walks out of oscorp into the darkness. peter was right, the cold air bites at harry’s skin. he walks quickly to his car and drives as fast as he can, breaking only a handful of laws.

 

he was supposed to get there in fifteen. he stops in front of the building in ten. harry reads the skin above the doors, saying ‘the daily bugle.’ so this is where peter works. he didn’t know it was a newspaper.

 

he sees peter glancing left and right, probably looking for harry’s car. peter is slightly shivering, dressed in a too thin black crew neck sweater, sporting a navy blue backpack with leather straps. 

 

harry rolls down the window, yelling out of the passenger seat window. “are you just going to stand there?”

 

peter’s head snaps up, walking quickly to the door. he opens it and slides into the black leather seat. “i didn’t even see you,” he breathes.

 

“yeah, i know,” harry laughs. he rolls up the window and cranks up the heat. he starts down the road.

 

“i know you’re rich and i shouldn’t be surprised at this point, but like, i didn’t think you drove a mercedes.” peter says, clicking in his seatbelt.

 

“do you want one?” harry asks casually. “i have a few spare.”

 

when he looks over, peter’s looking at him, eyebrows furrowed, head tilted, mouth wide open.

 

harry laughs. “im just kidding, oh my god. i’m rich but i’m not a dick.”

 

“okay, sure,” peter says, in the same way gwen responds to harry claiming that he didn’t wait for texts back. he was so wrong.

 

“what? i only have one car!” harry argues. “but i’m serious, if you want a mercedes or whatever, i can make that work.” 

 

“no, i’m good, thanks. my funky little toyota is fine.” peter adds, “where are we going?”

 

“honestly, i’m just driving. where do you want to eat?”

 

“you’ve just been driving this whole time without anywhere to go?”

 

“yeah,” harry says, like it’s obvious.

 

“what were you going to do if i didn’t say anything?”

 

“well you did, so,”

 

“you’re such a smartass, harry.”

 

harry knows it’s dumb for him to feel lighter when peter says his  _ name _ , but he smiles anyway. “i know, right?” 

 

“you wanna go to shake shack?” peter asks.

 

“yeah, shake shack’s cool.” 

 

they drive in silence for a few minutes, before peter asks, “can i play some music?”

 

harry takes his right hand off the steering wheel to press a few buttons on the touchscreen in between them. 

 

music starts playing. harry looks at the screen.

 

foster the people. sit next to me. 

 

when harry turns to look at peter, he’s surprised to find that peter’s already looking at him. waiting for him to approve.

 

“i love this song,” harry says, truthfully.

 

peter smiles. “good.”

 

in that moment, harry thinks that there isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for peter’s smile.

 

the feeling stays. surprisingly, it isn’t unwelcome.

 

“hey,” harry starts, making a left turn. “i didn’t know you worked at the daily bugle.”

 

“yeah, i was interviewing for that job when you spilled coffee all over me.” peter grins.

 

“sorry about that,” harry laughs. “i thought you said it was a photography place?”

 

“i’m a photographer for the newspaper.”

 

“cool.” harry falters. “where’s my shirt?” nope, that’s not what he meant to say at all, but it’s fine. everything is  _ fine. _

 

“um, well,” peter stumbles, not really knowing what to say. “it’s at my apartment, i mean i can give it back, uh,”

 

harry smiles. “keep it.” there’s something about the image of peter in  _ harry’s _ shirt that stirs up feelings in his stomach. 

 

they park in front of the restaurant, the only light being a green neon sign, displaying the name of the fast food joint.

 

harry holds the door open for peter. they walk into the restaurant. they argue about who pays. this feels more and more like a date.

 

they choose a table that’s half booth, half not. harry slides into the booth, as peter pulls out the chair. the wood of the table is quickly covered by paper wrappers. 

 

“how was work?” peter asks, unwrapping a cheeseburger. 

 

harry’s mind quickly goes to the hours spent waiting for peter’s reply. 

 

“boring.” harry says. “what about you?”

 

he shrugs. “it’s just work.”

 

“tell me about it.” the air isn’t awkward, per se, but they don’t need to make small talk. harry likes to think their relationship is past that. even if harry’s only seen peter twice in the past decade. 

 

“hey, um, i don’t mean to sound rude, but what are you doing here?” peter doesn’t look at harry.

 

maybe only one of them was happy to reunite. the thought makes harry sick. “i’m eating dinner here, with you.” he deflects.

 

“in new york. why did you come back?”

 

harry hesitates. it’s nothing bad, no deep dark secret, but harry’s never been one to open up, ever. he can talk circles around negotiations and commissions, but one mention about his feelings shuts him down.  “did you not want me to come back?”

 

“no!” peter looks stricken. “no, god, harry, of course i wanted you to come back.” peter runs a hand through his hair. “you have no idea how glad i am to see you again. i just- why now?”

 

“i just needed a change.”   
  


“back to new york?” peter still isn’t looking at him. 

 

maybe it’s time to be honest for both of them. “it’s just- i don’t know what i’m doing, okay?” 

 

peter looks up at him in question. 

 

“i don’t- i don’t want to do oscorp forever. all i ever did in london was party and drink and party some more and it’s like, yeah it’s nice but what am i going to do next? what’s my legacy? the company is my dad’s and i don’t want to just be nothing, you know? i want the world to know that i was here and that i wasn’t just my dad’s son. i’m here to find something. i’m here to be something.”

 

“i didn’t know, har.” 

 

of course you didn’t, harry thinks. 

 

“i shouldn’t have brought it up, i’m sorry-” peter rambles.

 

“it’s okay. if i was you, i would be convinced this was a fever dream. my childhood best friend, here in our hometown, nine years later?” 

 

peter’s hand inches closer to harry’s, on the table. “i’m happy you’re here. i mean it. i just thought you forgot about queens. about me.”

 

“i could never forget you,” harry says softly, honestly. he’s tried so hard to forget and repress and it worked for the most part. then he ran into peter in manhattan and the last decade went out the window. 

 

“you are something,” peter says. “to me, you are.”

 

this honest thing isn’t so bad. “you’re something to me, too.” harry confesses under the fluorescent lights of shake shack. it’s easier than it should be.

 

harry getting on that plane to new york, meeting gwen stacy, spilling coffee on peter’s shirt. every decision he’s made since coming here, everything that lead him back to peter- maybe it was meant to be. maybe he’s supposed to be with peter.

 

the rest of the night goes fine. they eat their food, they talk about gwen and felicia, they talk and talk and talk. 

 

harry feels lighter. harry feels exposed, raw, but lighter. like being open with peter is a good thing. it’s a new feeling.

 

he’s in his office the next day, when he gets a text.

 

_ gwen’s uglie ass [1:13pm]: peter came home late last night wanna tell me what happened ;) _

 

_ harry [1:13pm]: no texting during work hours _

 

_ gwen’s uglie ass [1:13pm]: LMFAO shut your mouth or i’ll tell ppl that u play pokemon go when ur supposed to be doing shit _

 

_ harry [1:14pm]: who r u gonna tell? the ceo?? _

 

_ gwen’s uglie ass [1:14pm]: fuck OFF u ugly ass hoe _

 

_ gwen’s uglie ass [1:15pm]: forreal tho, u hit that or what _

 

_ harry [1:15pm]: why dont u ask peter _

 

_ gwen’s uglie ass [1:15pm]: who says i didn’t _

 

_ harry [1:15pm]: THEN WHY ARE YOU ASKING ME FOR WHAT HAPPENED?????? _

 

_ gwen’s uglie ass [1:16pm]: peter unlike SOME OF US actually does his job so he never answers my texts :/ _

 

_ gwen’s uglie ass [1:16pm]: u, tho, are always looking 4 an excuse to not do work so here it is. talk abt my twink roommate _

 

_ harry [1:17pm]: shit u right _

 

_ harry [1:17pm]: uhhh i picked him up we went to shake shack i told him i wanted to be something and he told me i was something to him uhhh he showed me some memes on his phone yk nothing unusual _

 

harry looks down to his phone for a reply, but doesn’t get one. ah, the feeling of baring yourself just to get no response. never gets old.

 

the office door swings open. gwen is there, blonde hair messy and gasping for air. “YOU TOLD HIM HOW YOU  _ FELT? _ ” she screams at him.

 

harry winces. “i mean i guess?”

 

she closes the door and dumps herself on the couch. “i just ran eight flights of stairs to get here because you, harry ‘emotionally stunted’ osborn, just told peter your whole backstory on the first date.”

 

“we have an elevator.” harry says, avoiding the question.

 

“harry.” gwen responds, in a way that makes harry a little scared of her.

 

“okay, first of all, it wasn’t a date. second, i didn’t tell him my ‘whole backstory,’ i just told him why i moved back.” harry shrugs. this isn’t a big deal.

 

“and then you told him that you’re scared that you don’t matter in the grand scheme of things.” gwen says it like it’s an accusation.

 

“yeah?”

 

“that’s…” she shakes her head. “what did he say?”

 

“he said that i’m something to him.” harry twirls his pen. “gwen, we just said that we’re best friends. that’s it. i don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of it.”

 

“okay, i repeatedly tell felicia how much she means to me. i pick her up from work and i let her choose what we have for dinner. i pay for her food. then we spend hours talking and enjoying each other’s company. what do you call that?”

 

harry looks up from the spreadsheet he was analyzing on his computer. “that’s called a date between gays,” he tells her.

 

gwen blinks at him.

 

“that’s different!” harry defends. “it’s not like that.” he says, maybe more to himself than to gwen. “it’s not like that.”

 

“how do you feel about him?” she asks, softer, trying a new approach. gwen comes into his office pretending that she’s only here for the drama, but under all of it, if you look at the pair of them for more than a few seconds, you can see that she cares about him. it’s more than a lot of people in harry’s life can say.

 

“i think he’s hot,” harry says carefully, making gwen laugh. “i like spending time with him.”  _ he makes me feel safe _ , he thinks.  _ i’m fond of him _ . _ i’m scared of telling you how he makes me feel because that means they’re real. and i don’t want them to be real. _

 

gwen looks at him.

 

“that’s all i have to say on the matter.” he says it like he’s in a press conference when a media scandal blows up, harry being forced as the face of oscorp to make a statement, dodging reporters’ questions like he’s neo from the matrix. 

 

“okay.” gwen takes it. “did you send the budget report out yet?”

 

“fuck!” harry scrambles in his seat to reach his computer.

 

gwen laughs, flipping her hair. she spins around and walks to the door. “bye, harry!” she says from over her shoulder. 

 

“love you!” he calls after her.

 

harry makes a note to himself to give gwen a raise for putting up with all his bullshit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE point out mistakes, criticize me, compliment, share thoughts, etc


	3. how did i breathe without you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the formatting on this is super weird cause i wanna keep all the italics but also i dont want it double spaced in between lines so im just gonna guess

two weeks later, gwen, peter, and harry go out to eat. they all try to hang out as often as possible, but they have conflicting schedules and it just never seems to work out. they see each other for minutes at a time, quick phone calls and greetings in the office, playing text tag in the group chat. he’s missed the company of all two of his friends. being an adult sucks. 

 

it’s unsettling how peter’s made such an impact in harry’s life in such a short time, but it’s also comforting considering how long they’ve known each other. it’s been a month since they first bumped into each other on that manhattan street. it doesn’t feel like they went ten years without seeing each other, it’s like the ten years were a break, but they were bound to come together again like magnets. like they were always supposed to find each other again. it’s easy talking to peter, he knows harry, knows that it takes him a while to process and talk about his feelings, knows the little things like how he doesn’t like ranch and likes black ink pens instead of blue. while talking to peter feels like jumping into bed after a long day, comforting, familiar, there’s still the surprise from a decade’s worth of life. some things stay the same, but harry finds that getting to re-know peter involves learning new things about him, learning how he’s changed. he thinks it should make him scared, the unfamiliar, the unknown territory, but it does the exact opposite on harry. he finds himself wanting to know more about peter constantly, he finds comfort in the fact that peter feels the same way, judging from the look of shock when he tells peter that he got over his dislike of peanut butter. 

 

but after two weeks of no contact, they’re sitting at a table of a sushi restaurant.

 

“peter, i love you and all, but chocolate milk is way better than strawberry.” gwen argues.

 

“gwen, i love you and all, but strawberry milk is way better than chocolate.” peter counters.

 

“every kid grew up drinking chocolate milk!”

 

“just because it’s popular doesn’t mean it’s right!”

 

“bad chocolate milk doesn’t exist. there’s mediocre chocolate milk, but there’s no such thing as  _ bad _ chocolate milk.”

 

“exactly, but all strawberry milk is good and above mediocre.”

 

“but we can agree that drinking a glass of regular white milk is disgusting, right?” harry interjects.

 

“oh, duh,” peter says, like it’s obvious.

 

gwen nods her head. 

 

harry’s friends are really something else. he wouldn’t trade them for anything in the whole damn universe. 

 

“hey, could you pass the soy sauce?” harry asks.

 

peter hands it over wordlessly, fingers brushing against harry’s.

 

harry smiles. warmth blossoms and spreads in harry from their point of contact. “thanks.”

 

“it’s no problem,” peter replies.

 

gwen’s looking at them exasperatedly, like harry just ate a whole jar of plain mayonnaise. 

 

“what?” peter asks her.

 

“i just- you guys are gay.”

 

“yeah? so are you?” peter says, confused.

 

gwen blinks at him. “you know what, peter? don’t worry about it.” she shakes her head. “don’t worry about it.” she repeats.

 

“how’s felicia?” harry interrupts. with harry’s track record of being a complete idiot, gwen’s help is definitely welcome, but some things harry can do on his own. 

 

“um,” gwen falters. “i’m not seeing her anymore.”

 

“what happened?” peter asks.

 

“you okay?” harry questions. 

 

“i was going to tell you guys at one point, i swear,” she says. “it just didn’t really work out. i could tell she wasn’t that into me because she kept talking about her ex.” gwen laughs sadly.

 

peter and harry both reach out to put a comforting hand on her.

 

“i’m sorry to hear that,” peter offers. “is there anything we can do for you?”

 

peter’s method of comforting a friend is based around support. harry’s isn’t.

 

“you want me to kick her ass?” 

 

gwen laughs, but it isn’t sad this time. “yeah, if you want to.”

 

“i’m sorry, gwen.” harry softens. “i shouldn’t have mentioned it-”

 

“hey, if i get to pry about your love life, you can pry about mine.” gwen says. “same goes for you, peter.”

 

“your love life?” they both say at the same time.

 

gwen puts a piece of sushi in her mouth.

 

“um, i mean,” peter stutters. “it’s complicated.”

 

“yeah, yeah,” harry nods quickly. “complicated. i get that.” what does that even mean? 

 

something in harry’s chest twists at the thought of another person knowing peter more than he does. harry doesn’t like the idea of someone else being with peter. doesn’t like the idea of other people going on dates with peter, being able to kiss him when they want to, having him all to themselves. he doesn’t like that, not at all. the other part of his brain goes  _ shut the fuck up _ . peter isn’t his, peter can do whatever he wants, harry can’t just- he can’t just think these things out of nowhere. it’s not like harry likes him. right? harry doesn’t like him. not like that. “so, um, you guys wanna see mamma mia two after this?” he says through gritted teeth.

 

gwen takes pity on him and bites. “yeah, why not?”

 

“is that the one with iconic amanda seyfried?” peter asks. 

 

harry lets out a breath. he’s not sure he wants to know the details of how  _ complicated _ peter’s love life is. he’s not sure if he’s allowed to.

 

after they leave the restaurant, they go to the movies, eating a disgusting amount of popcorn. they come out of the theater singing abba songs, tripping over the words and the concrete. harry sleeps well that night, the warmth and love for his two best friends in the whole wide world tucking him in like a second blanket.

 

three days later, it hits him in the shower. who is making peter’s life complicated? he hates the thought of someone else knowing the secrets harry knows, despises the thought of someone else seeing peter the way harry sees him. something ugly flares in his chest, he can identify it as jealousy. 

 

another part of his brain says that peter isn’t his to claim, peter can be with whoever he wants. it’s not like they’re dating. harry doesn’t even like him! he’s just jealous because if peter gets a girlfriend, he can’t spend time with harry, his best friend who he lost so much time with. that’s exactly why he’s jealous. 

 

he calms himself down with a smoothie and forces his brain to forget about it.

 

harry sits at work for a handful of hours, looking over charts and reports and diagrams until his brain can’t think about anything except  _ marketing _ and  _ profit _ .

 

his phone buzzes on the table. harry flips it over to reveal a new notification on top of his lockscreen, a picture of gwen, peter, and him outside of an ikea, the bright blue contrasting against the green of peter’s jacket. gwen is looking straight at the camera, hands clasped together and fingers curled like a gun, pointing to the camera. peter and harry are on the left and right of her in the same mirrored position. both of them are down on a knee, hands joined together in the same gun, but instead of pointing forward, their hands point towards the sky, elbows on their thigh. peter is blowing invisible smoke out of his hand gun, and harry is grinning from how stupid they are. gwen is trying to keep a straight face, but harry can see her eyes crinkle at the corners, the way they do when she’s trying not to break character. they’ve become his family in a very short amount of time, but there’s no amount of time could even begin to break them. they’re his best friends. they’re his family.

 

the notification itself is a text from peter.

 

_ peter [2:31pm]: u up for an adventure? _

 

_ harry [2:31pm]: peter parker i am WORKING and cant simply leave to go join your shenanigans. _

 

_ harry [2:31pm]: lmfao jk but could u imagine _

 

_ peter [2:32pm]: harry? not wanting to leave work? who are you and what have you done to my boy _

 

my boy. that’s new. it’s not unwelcome.

 

_ peter [2:33pm]: anyway u couldn’t have said no in the first place im already here _

 

_ harry [2:33pm]: wha _

 

as soon as harry hits send, the door to his office opens. 

 

enter peter, holding a grey cardboard with two large coffees, (god fucking bless) in a navy blue bomber jacket with a white shirt underneath. he’s tall and lanky, his hair is artfully and unintentionally messy, he takes harry’s breath away. peter’s beauty never fails to make harry feel warm and cozy. 

 

he sets the grey cardboard tray down on harry’s desk and dumps himself onto a chair. 

 

“you busy?” peter asks, a grin on his face.

 

“what’s up?” it isn’t unlike peter to just drop by oscorp and drag harry away, but it isn’t  _ harry and peter _ if harry doesn’t play hard to get and lets peter sweet talk him out of the office. 

 

“let’s go somewhere.” the stupidly attractive, mischievous grin won’t go away.

 

“don’t you have work?” today is thursday. harry knows peter’s work schedule by now, and he just has this day of the week off.

 

“you know why i’m not at work.” harry doesn’t know how long he can physically keep himself from smiling. 

 

“where do you want to go?”   
  
“ice cream rolls.” peter leans in, carefully pronouncing every word.

 

“oh, shit,” peter’s got him there. harry is weak for ice cream. (and peter.)

 

peter repeatedly raises his eyebrows. “what do you say?”

 

harry stops to think. “let’s go,” he shrugs nonchalantly. as if he wasn’t writing ‘don’t know when i’ll be back’ on a neon green sticky note, left for whatever poor soul came to see him. 

 

they walk to the door together, but harry turns and runs back when he forgets his coffee.

 

they’ve been walking for an awful long time, talking away. the streets are empty, they pass by a stranger or two, but for the most part, harry and peter own the concrete of queens. mid-october has leaves falling, and the crunch of dead leaves follow them like ghosts. 

 

it’s not until ten minutes after harry finishes his coffee that he realizes they’ve traded yellow taxis for pebble road. they’ve gone far away from the noise of queens, and almost into the woods. the tall grey buildings have turned into equally tall green trees.

 

“where are we going?” harry can hear the sound of grinding rocks underneath his shoes.

 

“you’ll see.”  peter replies easily.

 

they walk in comfortable silence, harry looking at the compact dirt lined on either side of a never ending pebble road while trying to figure out where the  _ fuck _ they are.

 

it clicks when harry trips over a wooden beam. he catches his balance as peter reaches over to steady him, both hands on harry’s black blazer.

 

“whoa, whoa, whoa.” peter breathes. “you alright?”

 

harry digs in deeper into the rocks, the offending wooden beam between his feet.

 

he laughs, a little breathless. “yeah, yeah.” harry looks at peter. “i think i know where we are.”

 

“really?” peter quirks an eyebrow.

 

harry looks at the beam he tripped on, part of a railroad constructed of metal and wood. he looks at the concrete overpass a little ways ahead of them. the bleak blue-grey sky behind bright green, lanky, forest trees. the white-grey rocks underneath both them and the abandoned train tracks, rocks that are smooth like they’re fresh from the ocean, washed away on orange sand. harry’s fingers have fumbled over these rocks thousands of times.

 

the elements drop into place like a movie scene.  _ harry & peter,  _ the title plays in harry’s head, each letter accompanied by the click of a typewriter key.  _ summer of 2006. _ the sun is bright here in july, even if their hearts aren’t. they hide from the heat under the overpass, sitting on the cool concrete that’s still white, boasting its young age when harry and peter aren’t. thirteen is hard on them, trying to grow into lanky limbs and assigned social roles. harry is all soft colors, wearing a baby blue polo and salmon (“they’re not  _ pink,  _ peter!” he shouts angrily. peter snorts and laughs harder when harry’s voice cracks.) shorts. his hair is the color of a dandelion yellow crayon. he is the embodiment of golf-playing america. harry radiates popularity, his sarcasm and osborn genes leads people to him like moths to light. he’s born to be the center of attention in every setting, at every age. he says the right thing, he makes the right jokes, gets the right grades, passes the homework around for other people to copy. he doesn’t crumble- that’s not him. he isn’t supposed to be insecure, sad, lost. anything close to uncertainty, worry,  _ fear _ , isn’t in his dna. if a boy cries and no one is around to hear it, did he really cry at all? 

 

peter grounds him. thirteen year old peter wears black glasses and braces. he runs track, wears varsity jackets. 5’9 catches the attention of groups of girls, giggling as they walk by. while harry never stops talking, peter is shyer, smiley-er. softer. he’s more genuine, heart on his sleeve type of guy. but peter is just every bit of ugly and unsure of himself as harry is. peter has a crisis about his future every week, meltdowns on how he’s not going anywhere in life and how he isn’t sure that he ever will be. they make a perfect match. 

 

the two of them sit dangerously close to the train tracks, backs pressed against the curved walls of the overpass. the tracks are hardly ever used, and peter found the train schedule so they know when to not get run over by a train.

 

harry is throwing rock after rock while telling peter about something jessica said about matthew that he heard from justin. peter is invested and replies with snarky remarks, then telling a story of his own. they talk and they talk and they talk, until the crisp air of 2018 blends in with the warm color of 2006.

 

the peter is looking at him confusedly is not the peter he knew before. this one has taller hair, and a longer face, but the kindness in his eyes are still there. harry hopes they will always be there. 

 

“-harry? you okay?” peter says worriedly.

 

harry blinks. “yeah, yeah.” he says slowly. “just thinking about this place.” 

 

they’ve reached the overpass. “it’s been years,” harry breathes.

 

“i know.” peter says. “remember how ugly you were back then?”

 

“okay, metal mouth,” harry retorts.

 

“you were short.” peter deadpans, looking at him. 

 

harry’s eyes widen. “take that back, you fucker!” 

 

peter laughs, the sound bouncing off the trees.

 

they sit along the curve of the overpass, legs stretched out, propped on the metal and wood of the railroad tracks. the tracks are long abandoned, rusting and wood cracking. the concrete of the bridge isn’t white anymore, it’s a brown smudged grey, worn and eroded from the weather. the graffiti is there, but the edges are blurred and fading where they were once sharp. 

 

harry runs the pads of his fingers over blue letters written in sharpie, feeling a dip in the concrete that wasn’t there before. the small letters spell out ‘i’m not supposed to be doing this, but i am.’ it was always his favorite for a reason.

 

“why are we here?” harry asks softly.

 

“i thought you wanted to see this place again.”

 

harry is content with that answer, and he leans back further like he could melt into the concrete and become one with it.

 

it’s always easy with peter, they sit and waste time together like it’s nothing. this is no different. they talk about meaningless things, just like when they were in school. 

 

peter is going off about something that happened at work, he’s flailing his hands and staring at the other side of the bridge. harry turns to look at him, and it hits him like a truck.

 

peter is beautiful, harry’s known that since that day in manhattan. he’s familiar with the thoughts of ‘fuck, he’s hot,’ and the way he gets nervous when peter looks especially good today.

 

this is different. 

 

peter looks no different than he always does, eyes passionate, jaw defined, voice sweet and smooth like toffee.

 

affection and fondness and a million other things hit harry’s heart. he wants to be peter’s, a thousand times over. he wants to see him first thing in the morning and last thing before he goes to bed, he wants to make peter smile at the thought of him, just like harry does. he wants to hold peter’s hand in streets and kiss him stupid against walls.

 

this new revelation isn’t new at all, this is how he’s felt for a long time coming. he just found a label for it.

 

he’s in love with peter.

 

oh, god.

 

_ he’s in love with peter. _

 

harry isn’t stupid, he’s thought about it but insecurity keeps his mind from delving into it, chalks it up to how he thinks peter is attractive. 

 

but in this moment, harry can’t figure out why he ever thought he wasn’t in love with peter. 

 

a hundred thoughts flash in his brain, all of them he files away for him to pour over instead of sleeping tonight. 

 

he’s aware of his breathing, his beating of his heart underneath his skin.

 

“yeah, yeah,” he finds himself nodding, swallowing thickly. “you shouldn’t have to do that, peter.”

 

“exactly what i’m saying!” peter exclaims. he looks at his phone and checks the time. “damn, we’ve been here for three hours. do you wanna get food?”

 

“you gonna get me those ice cream rolls you promised?”

 

peter laughs.

 

the weight of how harry feels for peter follows them out of the abandoned train tracks and into the city, making them much, much more real. 

 

harry spends their walk back juggling dealing with feelings and actual conversation with peter so he doesn’t think harry has lost his damn mind, even if he has. 

 

he’s finally calmed down, thinking that this, like everything else, he can overthink about later. right now he just wants to enjoy spending time with peter, if he enjoys it a little too much, then so be it. 

 

they walk into the ice cream place. 

 

it’s a comfy spot, with bright green and orange foam sectionals and light wood floors. bright lit bounces off the matching green walls. harry is looking up at the chalkboard menu, opening his mouth to comment on a certain flavor combination. he turns his head, only to find empty space.

 

huh, okay. 

 

peter is gone. 

 

harry turns farther, and he sees peter tucked away in the corner of the shop, talking animatedly to a red haired girl.

 

really? the universe is going to do this to him now? he’s going to get his shit straight and peter’s going to hit him with the ‘harry, meet my girlfriend,’? 

 

peter catches his eye and his face lights up, making harry bite down on his tongue to keep himself from smiling. the tension in his jaw goes away.

 

“harry!” peter beckons him over and harry follows, just like he will over and over again.

 

he can do business professional, of course he can, he makes a living off of tolerating people who hate him. the feeling’s mutual. 

 

he pastes on a killer smile. he’s full of charm and he knows it. “hi, i’m harry osborn.” he puts out a hand.

 

the woman smiles, caught slightly off guard by harry’s forwardness. “mary jane watson,” she shakes harry’s hand. strong grip, he notes. “mj for short.”

 

“mj is my friend from work,” peter explains. “she’s like, my only friend there.”

 

“that’s not true!” mj laughs.

 

“it is!”

 

“it is,” she agrees, still laughing softly. “you don’t want to be friends with anyone else, they’re all dicks.”

 

peter laughs, and so does harry.

 

peter and mj make a cute couple.

 

harry’s heart clenches. he squashes down those feelings. 

 

“listen, sorry for leaving so soon, but i really do have to go.” she apologizes and turns to harry. “it was really nice to meet you.”

 

“pleasure was all mine,” he says quietly, not really sure if anyone caught it.

 

“hey, it was nice seeing you out of work.” peter says.

 

“you too!” she smiles, all straight, white teeth. “good to see you not getting yelled at.”

 

peter laughs. “i know, right?”

 

mj walks towards the glass door of the shop. “bye!”

 

peter waves her off. harry smiles, feeling out of place.

 

“she’s pretty,” he murmurs to no one. mj really is pretty, her vibrant red hair contrasts her dark skin and warm brown eyes.

 

something like insecurity and jealousy settles in harry’s stomach.

 

“not as pretty as you,” peter says, like he has a sleeve filled to the brim with pick-up lines, pulling them out at any time possible.

 

“god,” harry huffs and punches both peter’s shoulder and his own feeling of hope. “shut up.” 

 

harry expects a witty remark, some sarcasm, anything but the warm look on peter’s face when he looks at harry.

 

it’s the softest look he’s ever seen on peter’s face. it fills his body with sickeningly sweet honey.  _ i love you _ , harry thinks. it’s easy to think, he accepts the thought without hesitation.

 

“i meant it.” peter says, tone sincere. he walks towards the counter, leaving harry behind.

 

as he stands there, he’s starting to think that maybe,  _ maybe, _ he can believe it.

 

they choose a table with tall white chairs near the glass walls at the front. they talk, but not about mj. harry wants to know what the deal was with her but he doesn’t really want the answer if it’s not the one he hopes it is.

 

“i’m kinda tired,” harry says, putting a spoonful of oreo ice cream in his mouth.

 

“same,” peter responds. “you wanna get out of here?”

 

when harry and peter step outside, the cold air hits them immediately. 

 

“holy shit,” harry says, crossing his arms. “it’s cold.”

 

“wow, really?” peter rolls his eyes.

 

“i’m calling an uber,” harry ignores him, taking out his phone.

 

harry’s looking through his notifications a second later, when he hears peter go, “oh shit.”

 

he looks up, furrowing his eyebrows at peter.

 

“uh,” peter tilts his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “gwen just texted me, ‘don’t come home tonight,’ with the wink emoji and the fist emoji.” he winces.

 

“like, the whip?” harry questions.

 

“ _ that’s _ what you’re concerned about?” peter glares.

 

harry laughs at him. “aren’t we happy for her? that she’s getting some?”

 

peter snorts. “yeah, i guess. i usually crash at howard’s place and play mario kart with him until my eyes fall out of their sockets, but he has a girlfriend now so i’m kinda like, out of luck.”

 

“howard?” damn, how many friends does peter have?   
  


“gwen’s brother.” he answers.

 

“oh,” harry ends. 

 

“yeah,” peter says, awkwardly.

 

“ _ oh! _ ” harry’s brain finally catches up. “crash at mine,” he offers. 

 

“i can’t do that to you,” peter weakly protests. 

 

“you afraid i’m gonna kick your ass at mario kart?” harry challenges, grinning.

 

“fuck off, osborn, we both know you can’t play for shit.” peter says in the same tone, smiling equally as bright.

 

“why don’t you find out?”

 

the uber decides to pull up now, and peter doesn’t protest when harry tugs him out of the car in front of his apartment building. 

 

“you want some coffee?” harry asks, toeing off his shoes and making his way to the kitchen.

 

“do you have hot chocolate?”

 

“damn, peter, i’m not a goddamn store!” harry scolds without venom. “the thing is, i do.”

 

“you got whipped cream?”

 

“and marshmallows. god, peter, who do you think i am?”

 

“not answering that.”

 

harry laughs.

 

“i just realized i haven’t been here before.” peter says.

 

harry sets down all the materials on the countertop before turning around to peter. he’s sitting on the kitchen island, feet on a stool. he looks like- he looks like spider-man, sitting on the same island kicking his legs, that one night in september.

 

the thought of new york’s hero fizzles away when peter gives him a smile and harry melts.

 

harry hands a white mug full of hot chocolate to peter, spinning around on his socked toes to grab the can of whipped cream. he sprays it in a high swirl, the aerosol making a bit of cream land on peter’s nose.

 

“you have something right there,” harry murmurs, swiping his thumb across the soft skin of peter’s nose. both panic and warmth bloom in harry’s chest. 

 

“thanks,” peter matches his tone.

 

they stand together for a little bit and harry is sure he’s redder than the can of reddi-whip. 

 

“i should probably kick your ass on rainbow road now,” peter breaks the silence. 

 

“probably,” harry repeats, moving away from peter.

 

peter follows, setting down his mug on the low glass coffee table, then throwing himself onto the bean bag. 

 

they play mario kart into the long hours of the night and early morning. peter's been winning all night long, much to harry’s complaint. they’re drowsy and they say things that don’t make any sense, eyes bloodshot and droopy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my movie vision for this fic rlly came thru during the overpass scene also it took me 10 years to find out what the overpass was called cause i had it in mind but didn't know the word


	4. i've accepted it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the formatting is just gonna be double spaced now idgaf.

harry wakes up in his bed, clothes from the day prior still on. there’s a knot in his neck and he winces when he turns his head in the wrong direction. as harry leans forward, last night comes back. he remembers the orange of the sunrise, harry opening a bottle of alcohol, falling off rainbow road because they were drunk off their asses. he doesn’t know how he got here, what time he slept, what time it  _ is _ . where the hell is peter?

 

slowly, he rolls out of bed, running a hand through his hair and letting it slide down his face. green neon tells him it’s 11:37am. peter probably left already, he thinks. harry struggles to put on a red shirt, limbs moving slowly from his state of half asleep, half awake. he yawns and cracks the joints in his shoulders with a very satisfying  _ pop! _

 

harry opens the door, expecting to be greeted by an empty apartment as usual, but he stops when he sees what’s actually there. there’s peter back towards him, in a yellow sweatshirt,  _ harry’s _ yellow sweatshirt, cooking breakfast. harry just realized how  _ good _ it smells in here, peter has to be making french toast. peter’s playing music from harry’s portable speaker, swaying and humming.

 

harry’s heart clenches. peter looks so fucking beautiful, in harry’s clothes and in his house, making them food. harry wants this tomorrow and the day after, he wants this every day. he wants to see peter this relaxed all the time, wants to see his sleepy smile and yawn inches away from his own face. harry wants to stop time and freeze the whole world around them, until it’s just peter and harry with nothing to do except enjoy each other’s company. he wants to come up behind peter and wrap his arms around peter’s waist, sticking his hands in the pockets of the hoodie. he wants to sway his hips with peter to the song, whisper to him, ‘hey, beautiful.’ 

 

he doesn’t do any of that. harry swallows and leans against the island, chin propped up on his fist. “good morning,” he says, calm, cool, collected. not love struck or wanting or aching.

 

he sees peter’s neck snap up and his shoulders tense. 

 

“hey, harry,” peter says, barely audible over the sizzling of the pan and the music. peter’s hair is normally messy, but right now it falls over his eyes, he’s holding the spatula in one hand, the top of it shiny with grease. his (harry’s) sweatshirt says ‘champion, est 1919,’ in navy letters and he’s wearing black glasses. harry swallows, because peter is so gorgeous and harry wants so badly.

 

“sorry, i borrowed your, um, everything.” he gestures to the countertop. “but i made food!” his face lights up, remembering the bread on the pan. 

 

“then you can borrow anything you want.” harry says, making his way over. peter laughs and harry wishes this was real. 

 

peter puts a plate in front of harry. he responds eagerly, immediately stabbing a fork into the soft eggs. (peter made eggs, too!) “holy shit,” harry says. “these are amazing.”

 

“thanks!” peter’s grin is bright. “may taught me.”

 

“may!” harry loves may, she was like the mother he never had. peter hasn’t mentioned her and she faded from harry’s brain, letting himself believe that she was just a product of childhood imagination, that she couldn’t have possibly been real. may had enough love for both peter and harry, and he didn’t know what to do once he felt that type of familial love and had it taken away from him, like everything else. so he lets himself believe that it simply wasn’t real. the thought hits harry in the chest, making him hurt and not in the way peter makes him hurt. this isn’t beautiful, lovestruck hurt. this is empty panging, a hole harry thought he had mended making itself known again. “we should see her!” he suggests, for better or for worse.

 

“yeah,” peter says, warmer. “she misses you.”

 

that alone makes harry’s throat clench. he clears it.

 

“nice sweatshirt.” if harry’s voice falters, peter doesn’t comment on it and harry thanks the lord above.

 

peter smiles. “it’s yours.”

 

“i know, i have good taste.”

 

he laughs, and harry swallows at how happy he sounds. happy to be here, with harry. if you had told harry a year ago that he would have ran off to new york and fallen in love with peter parker, he’d laugh in your face.

 

peter clicks the stove off and brings over another plate. they eat breakfast together in comfortable silence, harry’s heart lodged in his throat because he hasn’t had a moment to himself after realizing how he feels for peter and it’s ruining him in the best way possible. he should have seen this coming, how could he  _ not _ be in love with peter? this feels right. his stomach turning at peter’s smile, the comfort that runs through his body like a shock when peter’s near, how he never seems to stop thinking about peter. that feels right, those feelings belong. 

what he feels for peter is- not new. it’s like peter flows through his veins, is under every inch of skin harry has. when his heart beats, it says peter, peter, peter. steady, comforting, never changing. it’s like they’re supposed to be here, they were supposed to meet again and harry is supposed to fall in love with him. he can’t imagine this story going any other way. 

 

“hey, um, this might sound weird but,” peter starts. “i have to go to work and i don’t have time to run home to get clothes so, uh, is it- is it cool if i borrow this for the day?”

 

harry doesn’t say anything. it’s way too early to think about what this means.

 

“i mean, i’ll give it back, of course, but like. you know.” peter is endearingly awkward, talks like how harry feels.

 

“yeah,” harry nods, the word feeling weirdly foreign on his tongue. “you can have it.”

 

“you sure?”

 

harry licks his lips. “yeah,” he confirms slowly. “go for it.”

 

“thanks, harry.” with that smile, harry would have said yes to anything he asked, no hesitation. 

 

he’s lying upside down on the couch, an hour after peter left for work, in harry’s clothes. 

 

_ holy shit. _

 

his brain finally caught up. peter is in harry’s sweatshirt. mj is going to see peter, in a yellow champion sweater that’s  _ harry’s _ yellow champion sweater. fuck. peter’s wearing his sweatshirt all day. harry wants to scream in his pillow. 

 

_ harry [11:21am]: gwen _

 

_ harry [11:21am]: it’s gay update time _

 

_ gwen’s uglie ass [11:22am]: waht _

 

_ harry [11:22am]: FINALLY _

 

_ harry [11:22am]: CALL ME _

 

harry presses the green button as soon as he sees gwen’s face on his screen.

 

“what the fuck do you want?” gwen whispers, probably because she’s at work and actually doing things.

 

“i, okay, peter stayed over.” harry explains.

 

harry can picture gwen’s face as she says, “you fucked?”

 

“no! jesus christ!” harry exclaims, before saying, “you did, though!”

 

“fuck off!” she hisses. “what do you want?”

 

“he stayed over and then i woke up and he’s in my clothes, in my house, making me breakfast, and that’s already batshit crazy. then he’s all like ‘can i borrow this?’ and it’s my fucking champion hoodie, you know, the yellow one? my favorite one? and he wants to wear it to  _ work! _ and i’m like, fucked up because i’m hungover and i haven’t had my coffee so i’m just like, ‘yeah, okay, whatever,’ and it’s been an hour and i just realized that peter fucking parker is wearing my sweater to his  _ workplace? _ where everyone can see? gwen. gwen stacy, i can’t do this. i can’t function anymore.”

 

harry waits for gwen’s response.

 

“wow,” she says, drawing out the ‘o’ for an unnecessary twenty seconds. “you can’t say you’re not in love with him now, not with that gay shit you just vomited.”

 

“i  _ am _ in love with him, but that’s beside the point!”

 

“well- wait shit, what did you just say?”

 

“but that’s beside the point?”

 

“no, you stupid bitch! before that!”

 

“i’m in love with him?”

 

“yes, that! are you finally admitting that you’re in love with my roommate?”   
  


“yes? i just found out i was, like yesterday! give me a break, okay? i’m a disaster.”

 

“god, tell me about it.” gwen sighs. “okay, so he’s wearing your sweatshirt, so what?

 

“i- that’s a big deal! especially when you take into account my big, gay crush on him!”

 

“i mean, i guess. well, he asked for it, right? he probably likes you, too.”

 

“what?”

 

“okay, so he makes  _ you _ breakfast and asks  _ you _ for  _ your _ sweatshirt. seems like he likes you.”

 

“peter doesn’t like me!”

 

“okay, so he hates you.”

 

“gwen!”

 

she laughs. “just ask him out, what’s the worst that could happen?”

 

“he doesn’t like me and then he’ll hate me forever?”

 

“yeah, that’s not  _ that  _ bad. shoot your shot, osborn!”

 

“gwen-” the line goes dead. that motherfucker. 

 

harry sighs, and he tries not to think about the implications that comes with peter wearing his clothes. 

 

a week later, harry is scrolling through twitter in an armchair at gwen and peter’s apartment. his legs are swung over the armrest and his head leans against the back of the chair. he’s wearing the yellow champion sweater that peter just returned to him. harry’s trying to not make it obvious that he keeps burying his face in it because it smells like peter. 

 

“ugh,” gwen groans, throwing herself down on the couch next to him. she’s holding a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream with a spoon lodged in the middle, wearing a pink hoodie and grey sweatpants. her pikachu socked feet are on the coffee table in front of them. 

 

harry raises an eyebrow at her and opens his mouth, looking at the ice cream.

 

she shoves a spoonful in his mouth. “thanks,” harry says, around the ice cream.

 

“peter,” she calls to her right. “you want some?”

 

“nah, i’m good.” he says, from the other side of the couch. “you want a marshmallow?” he throws one up into the air and catches it in his mouth. sue harry for thinking it’s hot. 

 

she puts her hand up and peter throws a marshmallow, which she catches easily. 

 

“pete,” harry says, throwing his index finger up. he catches the marshmallow with two fingers.

 

“show off,” gwen says, and peter laughs. 

 

“i’m just better than you.” harry grins.

 

“bet.” chimes in peter, throwing the whole bag over to harry. “throw five at me.”

 

“at the same time?” harry asks, catching the plastic bag.

 

peter nods. harry and gwen look at each other and shrug. harry reaches into the bag, getting five marshmallows. he throws them at peter, thinking that there’s no possible way peter’s going to catch all five.

 

okay, maybe he was wrong. peter moves quickly, almost a superhuman speed, catching two with his left hand. he catches another with his right hand and bounces the last two off of his right hand up into the air to catch them in his mouth.

 

“odd flex, but okay.” gwen concludes.

 

“how did you even do that?” harry asks him, absolutely mind blown.

 

“i’m just better than you,” peter quotes, mimicking harry’s voice. 

 

gwen laughs. harry throws another marshmallow at peter that hits him in the eye. gwen laughs harder.

 

their laughs quiet down after a while, harry keeps playing on his phone while gwen and peter watch shitty daytime television.

 

gwen sighs loudly.

 

harry looks up and makes eye contact. holding his gaze, gwen sighs again, even louder.

 

“wha-”

 

“glad you asked, harry!” she cuts him off, before going back to the same tired tone. “i need a girlfriend.”

 

“okay,” harry says, drawing out the ‘y.’ “what do you want me to do about it?”

 

“you know any cute girls?” she asks. “i mean, besides me, of course.”

 

“wow, i hate you.” harry resumes his game of cup pong.

 

“actually,” peter says. “i might know someone.”

 

“who?” harry and gwen say at the same time. gwen says it excitedly, whipping her head around to face peter. harry says it in confusion.  _ he’s allowed to have friends other than you and gwen, _ a part of his mind supplies. the other part responds with a defensive,  _ fuck you. _

 

“my friend mj, from work.” peter looks up from his phone. “harry’s met her.”

 

“yeah,” harry makes a sound of dismissing confirmation. “she likes girls?”

 

“harry,” peter retorts. “name one straight friend i have.” 

 

“gwen’s brother.”

 

peter pauses. “name  _ two _ straight friends i have.”

 

“okay, point taken.” harry says.

 

“why?” gwen pokes. “did you think she and peter have a  _ thing? _ ” 

 

harry hates her. “your words, not mine.”

 

“no!” peter laughs, oblivious to the stare off harry and gwen are having. “i have a  _ thing _ ,” he uses air quotes, “for someone else.”

 

harry gets whiplash from turning too fast. 

 

“for who?” gwen waggles her eyebrows. 

 

“don’t worry about it.”

 

“peter, you bitch,” harry says, “now you have to tell us.” peter’s  _ thing _ for someone else makes harry swallow. he goes for disinterested and hopes he doesn’t hit miserable and disappointed and hurt.

 

“one day, i will.” peter smiles, a little too genuinely. “gwen, you want a date with her?”

 

gwen nods quickly.    
  


“i got you,” peter says, shooting out a quick text to mj.

 

“you’re the only real lesbian ally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed this chap it's not as long as the other ones but we get some wholesome harry/gwen/peter family, peter in harry's clothes, AND peter flexing his spidey skills. pls comment to add a year onto my life


	5. i never thought about you feeling the same way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy

it’s been three months since peter and harry first re-met each other, and two weeks after harry realizes he’s been in love with peter all this time.

 

he falls asleep thinking about peter, wakes up thinking about peter. there isn’t one moment where peter isn’t on his mind. he smiles to himself like an idiot when he thinks about peter’s brown eyes or how much he wants to spread his fingers across peter’s cheek. the thought of kissing him triggers a full body shiver from harry. only peter could make him feel like this, warm and like he’s on top of the world. but it also hurts like hell, peter having a thing for someone else and harry doubting every move he makes. he returns peter’s flirting and dismisses it as just a joke, sometimes their hands brush and harry has to hide the jolt of electricity that runs through him. it’s so hard to hide from peter, so hard to tear his gaze away when peter looks especially gorgeous. 

 

today, he’s been working for god knows how long. the sun has set long ago, leaving harry alone with only the december night and spreadsheets on top of spreadsheets.

 

he has an elbow on the desk, hand cradling his cheek. his eyes burn and he keeps jolting himself awake. his mug that was once full with coffee is empty, leaving a round ring of water on the glass. just a little bit more, and he can be free. just a little longer and he can pass out on the couch. 

 

the door opens and harry jumps awake, not knowing his eyes were even closed. there’s a tall, shadowy figure and light pours in behind it. 

 

“am i dead?” he mumbles. “are you an angel?”

 

harry doesn’t believe in angels or in a god, but the laugh from the figure is truly angelic.

 

“peter!” he tries to sound enthusiastic, but his words slur.

 

“hey,” peter walks further into the office, toeing the door behind him shut. “i brought you a little something.” peter holds up a large brown paper bag that is stapled shut, there’s oil stains marking the bag.

 

“thai food,” harry sniffs. “you really are an angel.”

 

nevermind. harry believes in an angel now.

 

“let’s go,” peter motions. “i have a surprise for you.”

 

harry’s too tired for words, so he tilts his head and furrows his eyebrows as a response. 

 

“we’re going on an adventure.”

 

“it’s,” harry looks at his computer screen to check the time. “holy shit, it’s 11. don’t you have places to be?”

 

“yeah, i do. it’s right here.”

 

the sudden softness in peter’s voice makes harry hear his heartbeat thump loudly against his ribcage. 

 

“okay.” harry returns the softness. he gets up, grabbing his jacket that was draped behind the swivel chair and wraps it around his shoulders. “adventure time.”

 

“don’t worry, it’s a short journey.”

 

they walk out of the office together and harry is dead tired and would love his bed right now, but the smile peter gives him makes him realize that there’s no place he’d rather be. 

 

harry isn’t stupid, when they walk into the elevator, he watches peter press the button to the top floor. he gives peter a look and he simply smiles back. harry knows that when they leave and go up two flights of stairs, they’ll end up at the roof of oscorp tower, 108 floors above the concrete sidewalk of queens.

 

what he doesn’t expect, though, is a clear pathway to the edge of the roof, snow piling up on either side of the path. at the end, there’s a blanket down. this feels a little too romantic. harry’s knees are a little less stable than usual, he tries to blame it on how high up on there, but he knows deep down that something will change here tonight, and he’s not sure if he wants that. 

 

“peter,” he says, swallowing. 

 

“for the first time in my entire life,” peter says, almost ignoring harry altogether. “i actually planned something out. let me do this before i chicken out?” his voice trails up at the end of the sentence.

 

“okay.” one part of harry is tired and wants to let peter do whatever he wants, the other part is terrified and wants to jump off the roof. a whiff of the food still clutched in peter’s hand hits him, and the former part of harry wins the internal battle. 

 

harry sits down on the red and white checkered blanket that peter’s put down on top of a white trash bag to keep the water from soaking into the blanket. peter has really thought this out, huh? harry thumbs the blanket, enjoying the feeling of warm fleece across his fingers. his feet dangle off the edge of the building and he doubles over to watch the city below his swinging legs. he hears peter behind him open the bag.

 

“harry,” peter calls. harry turns and suddenly there’s an aluminium container in his hand, the warmth from it seeps into harry’s hands. 

 

he doesn’t realize how hungry he actually is until after he takes a bite, eyes falling closed. “holy  _ fuck, _ ” he says. “peter, you really are god’s last gift.”

 

peter huffs. “thanks.” he settles himself in the same position as harry, thighs pressing together. he’s so unnecessarily close to harry but that’s not a problem at all.

 

harry can’t really place what’s making him feel so nostalgic and warm right now, the lights of new york, the snow falling down, or peter pressed next to him or his lack of sleep, but he finds himself looking at peter. he’s done this too many times to count, turn to look at peter and stop because he’s so breathtaking and beautiful. harry’s body is on auto pilot, because he surprises himself and peter by saying a soft, sincere, “thank you.”    
  
peter turns to look at him and wow- when did they get so close? this is dangerous territory, if harry focuses enough, he thinks he can feel peter’s heart beat. harry’s eyes drop down to peter’s lips and  _ want, want, want _ hits him so hard, harry almost forgets what it’s like to breathe. the same force that’s making harry feel warm also erases his filter, where he would usually force himself to pull away and carry on, this time he talks again, so quiet in contrast to the whistling wind around them. “i-“   
  
“can i kiss you?” peter interrupts. he’s looking back and forth between harry’s mouth and his eyes. the tip of his nose is red from the cold. behind them, harry can see soft yellow lights against black sky. like every moment, harry thinks that this is the most beautiful he’s seen peter. like every moment, he’s proven wrong because he sees peter in their next little moment and peter outshines his past self and  _ that _ is the most beautiful peter.  _ unlike  _ every moment, this time, harry leans forward until he can feel the press of peter’s lips against his own.   
  
harry’s heart aches in the best way. he’s wanted for so long and finally, finally. it’s better than he could ever dream of. peter kisses him slowly, his lips are soft and warm, he tastes like the thai food they’re having, and it’s irresistible. harry will never forget this, he doesn’t think he can, even in a fucked up world where he would want to.    
  
peter pulls away after a bit because unfortunately, breathing is a function they need to perform in order to ensure survival. peter’s breath comes out in white clouds of water vapor, warm in contrast to everything else except harry’s chest and mouth.    
  
“i can’t believe this is happening.” peter breathes.   
  
“maybe it isn’t. we should try again just to make sure,” harry murmurs..   
  
“yeah, yeah.” peter says, more to himself than to harry. he dives back in this time, firmer and sure of himself. as different as this kiss is, it still makes harry feel the same, full of comfort and hope.    
  
peter’s hand moves up to harry’s cheek, thumb moving along his cold cheekbone. harry’s hands are along the base of peter’s neck, thumbs where his throat meets his chest. harry presses lightly against the spot, earning a moan from peter. harry smiles against his mouth.   
  
“i’ve wanted this for so long,” peter says.   
  
“tell me about it,” harry whispers.   
  
“hey,” peter says, nudging harry’s hand as if harry could pay attention to anything but this boy in front of him. “i want this. i want you.”   
  
peter’s honesty always hits him where it hurts. he struggles to reply, “me too.”

 

they sit in silence for a while.

 

“you know that night you let me stay over?” peter asks, out of the blue.

 

harry looks at him with a confused expression, nodding.

 

“i almost kissed you that night.” he says simply, like he’s talking about how the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.

 

harry freezes. “what?”

 

“you broke out the whisky, because it isn’t harry osborn without alcohol,”

 

harry scoffs.

 

peter continues. “we got drunk. like, really drunk. shitfaced. you kept laughing and trying to talk to me but i wasn’t listening, because all i wanted to do was kiss you.”

 

“why didn’t you?” harry finds himself saying.

 

“i didn’t think you liked me back! gwen said your love life was  _ complicated _ and i didn’t think you were talking about  _ me. _ ”

 

harry has this problem with diving in too quick, and as much as he wants to tell peter it was complicated because he was- he  _ is _ in love with peter, he doesn’t. “well, i was.” 

 

“i was talking about you, too.” peter agrees. harry envies peter’s ability to be strong and vulnerable so much. “that’s why my love life was also complicated.”

 

“so, bottom line, we’re stupid as fuck.”

 

“complete dumbasses,” peter laughs, tilting harry’s chin up for another kiss.

 

the two of them continue to eat their food, laughing and talking and kissing. the entire time, their ankles are hooked together, swinging 108 floors above the ground. after, they walk down, holding hands for half the elevator ride when harry works up the courage to nudge peter’s pinkie. when they reunite with the december snow outside, harry walks peter to his car, pushes him against the side of peter’s red toyota, and kisses the life out of him, his thumbs in peter’s belt loops. he whispers goodnight to peter before turning around and leaving peter, who he imagines is bright red and it isn’t due to the weather. 

 

when harry goes to sleep that night, he can’t stop smiling like a goddamn fool, but he wouldn’t do anything to change it. 

 

adulthood bites him in the dick yet again, as over the course of the next two weeks, he’s seen peter for a total of zero seconds. peter has this big project he was working on, with no one other than mj (who is getting along _ very _ nicely with gwen), and oscorp is on the verge of a breakthrough involving genome mapping, which means that harry is stuck at the office until science physically manifests at oscorp in a fever dream and tells harry what the  _ fuck _ they’re doing wrong.  

 

since harry lives at oscorp now, theoretically he should be able to see gwen because they work at the same damn building, right? wrong, again! between gwen’s dates with mj and  _ her _ at the lab also trying to figure out what’s going on, they haven’t had a conversation that isn’t about fucking genome mapping. 

 

in conclusion, harry is so frustrated and he hasn’t found the time to talk to peter about their relationship, which means he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to tell gwen, which is okay in a way because he hasn’t found the time to potentially tell gwen, either. 

 

while the time harry and peter have spent together over the last two weeks stands at zero, the number of glass objects harry’s destroyed in that same frame of time stands at a record breaking, (or more fittingly, glass shattering) fifty beakers, shot glasses, and various other items. 

 

when this is all over, he says to himself as he pinches the bridge of his nose, he needs to buy more glass shit. 

 

harry is furiously typing on his phone as he walks the crowded streets. he’s trying to get back to the office after his lunch break and there’s too many people outside right now and too many cars and he has places to be, goddamn it! he’s so distracted by the email he’s writing and his own anger, which, honestly has been his closest friend over the past handful of days, that he doesn’t notice the pedestrian signal turn red.

 

harry mutters quick formalities to strangers while still walking swiftly ahead. erasing a typo, he steps off the curb into the road to cross the street. there’s the inevitable sound of a taxi honking and he looks up to the yellow car to flip it off, only to find a red semi driving way too fast (like any respectable new yorker) and it looks like it’s heading straight for harry. 

 

out of all the ways to die, getting hit in the middle of the road because he was writing an email to a pharmaceutical company was at the bottom of the list.

 

but harry lives to tell the tale and write more emails when a spandex-clad man in red and blue swoops down, wraps his arm around harry’s waist, and projects them into the sky.

 

ah, spider-man! harry was wondering where he went after their whole coffee incident, three months ago. harry almost forgot about spider-man altogether, with this whole ‘falling in love with peter’ thing. the sound of the wind around them rushes in harry’s ears, his blonde hair and black jacket sleeves blow in the same direction. harry grips his phone so hard that his knuckles turn white.

 

“good to see you again, harry!” spider-man yells over the wind. “but not when you almost get hit by a truck! did they ever teach you to look both ways?”   
  
“why would i? when i have my friendly neighborhood spider-man to save me from not being able to cross the street like any other functional human being?” harry says back, loudly.

 

“what if i’m too busy punching bad guys to save you?” there it is, that signature  _ thwip-thwip _ noise.

 

“too busy doing the punching or getting punched?” harry’s banter is surprisingly quick, considering he’s hundreds if not thousands of feet up in the air.    
  


“hey, i’ll drop you.” spider-man says, a little too serious about leaving a harry osborn shaped splat in the middle of the road.

 

harry laughs nervously. “can we go to oscorp? i have work to do.”

 

spider-man wordlessly changes directions. “what happened to our second date?” 

 

“what?” harry deadpans. 

 

“we had coffee, then you never called me back for a second date.”

 

“you didn’t leave me a number? what was i supposed to do, scream ‘hey spider-man, i thought that was really nice, wanna do it again?’ all over new york?” even if the last time he was in the air with spider-man was three months ago, he somehow got used to the flurry of colors below them on the street.

 

“yes?” spider-man retorts in the same voice. “wait- is this you trying to call me back? i’m so flattered, mr. osborn.”

 

“harry,” he corrects. “spider- bro, i’m not trying to call you back. i have a boyfriend!” despite the situation he’s in, harry has to bite his lip to keep himself from smiling because he’s thinking about peter and that just always brings harry in a better mood.

 

“spider-bro is a new one.” spider-man doesn’t say anything about harry’s sudden heart eyes.

 

“fuck off!” he says defensively.

 

“i can still drop you.” spider-man warns. “you got a boyfriend?”

 

“yeah,” harry sighs dreamily, much to his embarrassment. 

 

“cool! what’s he like?” spider-man talks in the same cheery tone.

 

“cooler than you,” harry starts.

 

spider-man doesn’t seem too hurt, but he still says, “it feels like every time we meet, you always find a way to insult me.”

 

harry tries to shrug. “it’s part of the charm, some people say.”

 

“unfortunately, they’re right.” spider-man says. “your boyfriend puts up with that?”

 

“how do we even have time for this?” harry avoids. “isn’t spidey-uber faster than walking?”

 

“spidey-uber. i see why they call you one of the brightest minds of our time.”

 

harry glares at him. “anyway, he’s is a photographer at the daily bugle. he’s cute.”

 

“cuter than me?”

 

“considering he doesn’t wear spandex on the weekends, yes.” harry deadpans. “his name is peter, we just got together and between you and me? i cannot shut the fuck up about him!”

 

“and,” spider-man says dramatically, dropping down onto the roof of oscorp. “we’re out of time!” harry turns his head to look at the spot where it all happened. he still can’t believe it’s real. 

 

“thanks, spidey,” harry says, awkwardly patting spider-man’s cheek. the ridged spandex is rough against his fingers. “it’s been real.”

 

“it’s been real,” spider-man salutes. “if you wanna give me a call, you know where i am.”

 

“no, i don’t,” harry tries to say, drowned out by spider-man taking a running start off the roof and swinging off. 

 

damn. spider-man really flirted with him? harry can only imagine peter’s reaction to the city’s vigilante coming after his boyfriend. 

 

in the elevator down to his office, harry texts peter.

 

_ harry [3:17pm]: lmfaoo you will not believe what just happened _

 

he juggles the thought of sending an additional text, something sappy and stupid like ‘i hope you’re having a good day’ followed by a handful of heart emojis. he decides against it.

 

harry is working on something on his computer, legs draped around the armrest of his swivel chair when he gets a text back.

 

_ peter <3 [4:25pm]: wanna get dinner tonight and tell me about it? _

 

_ peter <3 [4:25pm]: if ur not too busy  _

 

harry misses him so fucking much and he can’t deal with the thought that maybe peter thinks harry is too busy for him. 

 

_ harry [4:26pm]: of course.  _

 

he needs this. they both need this. oscorp and science can wait another fucking day. 

 

_ peter [4:27pm]: 8 good? _

 

_ harry [4:27pm]: perfect. _

 

_ harry [4:28pm]: i cant wait _

 

_ peter [4:28pm]: neither can i _

 

harry swears, as soon as it’s 8:00 he’s leaving the building, even if he’s in the middle of a meeting. no,  _ especially _ if he’s in a meeting.

 

he expects the next three and a half hours to be pure torture, trying to work his ass off and finish the stuff he has to do today before he sees peter. all of that goes out the window when gwen swings open the door, screaming.

 

“we did it!” she yells, making harry wince. “the entire fucking time, we were trying to extend telomeres, but we weren’t trying to copy them!”

 

harry tries to piece it together. “so if you copy them and sew them together,”

 

“you can live longer!” they say at the same time.

 

harry jumps out of the seat. “holy shit!”

 

gwen nods.

 

“holy shit!” he repeats, running a hand through his hair. “we did it? you did it? we did it!”   
  
he runs over to where gwen is, hugging her tightly. “we did it!” he’s so surprised, they shouldn’t have figured it out so quickly, as much as harry wanted them to. he’s so shocked and astonished and fucking  _ finally _ , oscorp made the medical breakthrough of the year. 

 

“we fucking did it,” gwen says.

 

“oh my god, we’re going to have to throw a party. we have to celebrate. i have to get shitfaced.” harry is pacing around, gesturing wildly and still filled with shock.

 

“i have to get laid.” gwen nods along.

 

harry suddenly spins around and points to her. “yes. you do that. you deserve it.”

 

the party is in full swing. harry stood on the staircase, congratulating them all and giving an inspirational speech about how oscorp can move forward and work towards better things after this discovery. a lot of his speeches are loads of bullshit. this one isn’t.

 

he orders pizza for everyone and makes an intern run out and get champagne, giving her his credit card. he hates work, most of the time, but it’s hard not to smile when his overworked staff is celebrating. he doesn’t like the meetings or the ‘higher ups’ that try to overthrow him, but he can’t help be a little happy for his assistants and the scientists and the people that actually make oscorp a good place to work at. his heart is a little fond right now, sue him.

 

he’s talking to this woman about oscorp’s future and as much as he’s genuinely enjoying the conversation, harry has places to be in about ten minutes.

 

namely, out the door and with peter. 

 

those plans get foiled when harry hears the door open and turns around. there’s peter, looking beautiful as ever, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

 

harry’s smile hurts his cheeks. peter is smiling at him like he’s the only person in the room, and harry doesn’t know why they aren’t hugging right now. he’s missed him so much. 

 

he politely excuses himself, making his way over to the other side of the room. “hey,” he says quietly to peter, hands hovering awkwardly. another drawback to them not having the  _ talk _ yet, harry doesn’t know where they stand on pda and if harry’s allowed to touch him. this is almost as painful as the weeks before they started dating.

 

peter wraps his arms around harry’s waist. harry puts his arms on peter’s shoulders because if peter can touch, then so can he, right? is that how this works? “hey, harry,” peter says, equally as quiet.

 

the whole room melts away, everyone is gone. it’s just them, almost slow dancing in the middle of the oscorp break room. 

 

“wanna get out of here?” harry asks.

 

instead of responding, peter holds harry’s hand and guides them away, all the way to peter’s car. 

 

“i missed you,” harry whispers against peter’s neck, one leg in between peter’s. peter’s hands are in harry’s hair and his breathing is hot, contrasting the cold glass window pressing against harry’s hands.

 

making out against cars is their thing now, harry guesses. 

 

“tell me about it.” peter pants hotly in harry’s ear.

 

they make out for a little longer, long enough for peter to suck a bruise on harry’s neck, before his stomach growls.

 

they break apart. “was that you?” harry says, laughing a little bit.

 

peter shamefully nods. “i haven’t eaten yet.”

 

“there was pizza upstairs,” harry moves back into peter’s space. 

 

“i wanted to have dinner with you.” peter’s voice makes harry soft. 

 

“then let’s go to dinner.” harry mumbles against his cheek. “italian?”

 

“whatever you want, har, just like, quickly before i die.” peter moves them forward, so he can open the car door.

 

harry moves away from peter, missing the warmth immediately. he goes around to slide into the passenger seat, thinking about how peter always called him  _ har _ but it’s a little different now that peter knows harry’s heart is in his hands. 

 

during the drive, peter puts his palm up, an invitation for harry to slot their hands together. so he does, and they stay like that.

 

“hey, pete?” harry has to ask about this, about them.

 

peter hums.

 

“can we,” he starts, not knowing how to phrase it. “i like you. a lot.” 

 

“i like you a lot, too.” peter says easily, while harry is fumbling words.

 

“we’re dating?”

 

peter hums again.

 

“you’re my boyfriend?”

 

to this, peter smiles, and looks at him. “i’m your boyfriend.”

 

harry uses his free hand to nudge peter towards the road. “you’re gonna get us killed.”

 

“no, you’re going to be the death of me.” peter says smoothly, and harry falls in love a little more.

 

“shut up.”

 

“seriously, harry, you good?”   
  
“are you okay with pda? are we telling gwen? are we keeping it a secret?”   
  
peter thinks for a second, before answering. “i’m definitely okay with pda. we’re telling gwen, eventually. i don’t want to keep it a secret. do you?”

 

“no.”

 

“then that’s settled. we’re going to be the grossest couple alive.” peter smiles.

 

harry can’t help but match it. before he can say anything, peter speaks again.

 

“were you really that nervous about asking about our boundaries?” peter sounds almost fond.

 

“peter, it’s me.” harry deadpans. “i’m always nervous.”

 

peter laughs. “you know you can talk to me about anything, right? just because we’re dating now doesn’t mean we still aren’t best friends who text each other about existentialism at two in the morning.”

 

“one time!” harry yells. “it was ONE time.”

 

he keeps going. “we’re best friends, but now we just make out a lot more and i call you sappy shit like honey and baby if you’re okay with it.”

 

just knowing peter  _ could _ makes harry swallow and fight off a stupid grin. “definitely okay, gorgeous.”

 

now peter is the one biting his tongue. harry laughs at him. “when are we telling gwen? i work with her, there’s no way she won’t find out.” harry says. “and there’s no way she won’t murder me once she finds out that we didn’t tell her.”

 

peter shrugs. “man, i live with her. i just don’t wanna like, flex our relationship when she’s still upset about felicia.”

 

“yeah, i know. are her and mj good?”

 

peter nods. “they’re really good. i still can’t believe you thought we were dating.”

 

“peter, i deadass realized i liked you like ten seconds before i met her. what was i supposed to think?”

 

“that i liked you just as much?” peter returns. “wait, you liked me when we went to get ice cream rolls?”

 

no, he’s liked peter since the day he spilled coffee all over him, fell in love with him probably after shake shack. he just lied to himself about it until the overpass. but harry needs to keep some things to himself. just for now. “yeah?”

 

“i’ve had it bad for you since six flags. i thought it was obvious.” peter admits.

 

“obvious?” harry says, baffled.

 

“ask gwen! she’d always get on my case about,” peter’s voice goes high pitched as a bad impression of gwen. “heart eyes this, heart eyes that, “just ask him out, dumbass!”

 

harry bursts out laughing. “that’s gwen!”

 

after they park the car upon arriving, they walk in together into the restaurant. it’s a nice italian restaurant, there are orange lights hanging down from the ceiling, washing the white tablecloths in a soft mandarin color. it makes harry soft.

 

he can see his own breath when he exhales, the air inside a stark contrast to outside due to the pizza oven and the candles. 

 

they’re seated and peter is laughing with cheese sauce on the corner of his mouth. the noodles were too long and he didn’t cut them and they just slid off his fork back onto the plate, leaving a mess that peter mostly wiped up.

 

harry is whipped because even like this, he almost swoons. peter is glowing in this light, looking angelic. his skin is golden orange and comforting, like jumping into bed after a long day. peter’s laugh is beautiful and loud, his grin is wide and there’s _cheese sauce_ _on his face_ and harry decides that, _fuck_ , this is the man he wants to see first thing in the morning and last thing before he goes to sleep. this is what it’s like to be in love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it chief! we love harry and peter finally getting their shit together


	6. slices of life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is when i picked up from not writing for a long time and i feel likemy writing got considerably worse and that this is a bad chapter but here we go

a few days after their date and oscorp’s scientific breakthrough, harry and peter are lounging around in harry’s apartment.

 

harry is sat at the kitchen island, eating pretzels. peter is kneading bread dough.

 

“oh, babe,” harry starts. “you know that thing i was talking about the other day when we went to eat at that italian place?”

 

“lemon meringue pie?” peter says, not looking up.

 

“no, but it still is a bad pie.”

 

“you’re still wrong, but what’s up?”

 

“earlier that day, i almost got hit by an 18-wheeler,” harry says, casually.

 

peter looks up, “harold theopolis osborn, you got hit by a truck?”

 

“i ALMOST got hit, but then spider-man swooped down and saved me.” harry explains. “but that’s not the important part.”

 

peter puts all his weight on his elbows, resting on the countertop. “that’s not the important part?” he sounds exasperated.

 

“no, ‘cause when we were swinging, he was like, flirting with me and i was all like, “no i have a boyfriend,” but yeah, that’s what i wanted to tell you. spider-man flirted with me after saving my life.”

 

peter grins. “aw, babe, you turned down spider-man for me?”

 

“yeah, i told him i don’t like boys who wear red and blue spandex.” harry expects peter to laugh, or even smile, but all he gets his an open mouth and a blink. “what?”

 

“harry, i think there’s something you should know.” peter goes around the island to where harry is, and sits on the clean part of the countertop. he looks at harry. “this is maybe the best coffee i’ve ever had.”

 

harry is confused for a second, then it all clicks. “holy fucking shit,” his eyes widen. “it’s was you! in my kitchen like four months ago, saving me from that semi, flirting with me, that was you!”

 

peter nods.

 

“i’m dating spider-man,” harry marvels.

 

“so, you’re not mad?”

 

“why would i be?”

 

“because i lied to you and kept this from you since we’ve known each other.”

 

“that’s fine, i get it, just because you’re my boyfriend doesn’t mean you have to share everything with me.”

 

“harry,” peter looks sympathetic.

 

“i’m being serious! i get it, there’s just some stuff you gotta keep to yourself for a while.’ harry leans up to kiss him and peter meets him halfway. “it’s okay, babe.” he says against his lips. “but if you ever die trying to be a hero, i will resurrect your ass just to kill you again.”

 

peter laughs. “you got it.” and kisses him again. “so, the spandex isn't your thing?”

 

“no, but you’re my thing, so i’ll let it slide.”

 

“you’re sappy.”

 

“you’re cute.” harry pulls away when peter leans in again. “aren’t you doing something?”

 

peter hums. “yeah, making out with you.”

 

“the bread?”

 

he sighs. “i guess.”

 

peter keeps baking and everything is normal for a minute.

 

“wait,” harry says. “is that why you could catch five marshmallows that one time? because you’re spider-man?”

 

“yes.” peter responds. “did it impress you?”

 

“no, you dick, it annoyed me ‘cause i thought i was being cool!”

 

“sorry, har. you’re still cool to me.”

 

harry flips him off, and peter laughs.

 

two weeks later, they decide to tell gwen.

 

harry and gwen agree to meet up at the coffeeshop on a windy friday morning. as usual, when harry walks in, gwen is already seated at a booth.

 

once harry gets situated, buys himself an americano and a danish, he looks at gwen.

 

“i have something to tell you.” they both say.

 

“you go first,” harry says.

 

“no you go- okay, i’ll go first.” gwen is off the rails. “mj and i are dating.”

 

harry’s mouth drops open. it’s certainly a wonderful surprise, harry and peter wanted them together anyway, after gwen’s whole thing with felicia. she, out of any of them, deserve to be happy.

 

“that’s amazing!” he exclaims. “i love you and peter loves mj, so! yes!”

 

gwen screams, but quietly, because she has manners and isn’t about to annoy everyone else in the cafe.

 

“how did you guys finally get together?”

 

“okay, so we’ve been hanging out a lot, right? so i’m over at her place and we’re watching a movie and she just looks at me and then she kissed me! and obviously, i’m like, “what the fuck?” internally. ‘cause i like her a lot but i never thought she would have feelings for me? and she’s like “yeah, i like you.” and boom! lesbians.”

 

harry blinks, at a loss of words. “gays win again!”

 

“gays win again!” gwen repeats. “anyway, what was your thing?”

 

“okay, now, don’t freak out when i say this.” harry starts. “but peter and i have been dating for a few weeks-”

 

gwen chokes on her coffee. “bitch! i called it. a few weeks? why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“because we were busy!” harry ignores gwen’s wink. “and i knew you and mj were getting closer but i thought you were still kinda upset about the whole felicia thing. peter and i didn’t wanna flex our relationship especially when we’re your only friends! we just didn’t want to be weird about it.”

 

“that’s sweet but, two months! you whores! i can’t believe i didn’t notice this.”

 

“gwen, it’s okay to say that mj kept distracting you with her “gorgeous red hair” and “the brightest smile you’ll ever fucking see.” harry laughs when gwen hits him.

 

“fuck off!”

 

they laugh and talk about how stupid deep they are for their significant others. it’s like they picked up right where we left off. harry feels complete, knowing that whatever time he and gwen spend apart, they’ll fall right back to each other. harry’s known it for a while, but in this moment, he swears that he’ll do anything for her.

 

in march, four months after harry and peter got together, harry stands outside a doorstep in fitted grey khakis and a light blue button up shirt under a grey knit sweater.

 

“relax,” peter says, rubbing harry’s back. “she loves you, she’s glad to see you.”

 

harry adjusts his grip on the lasagna dish he’s holding. “it’s just, what if i fuck it up? what if she doesn’t like me anymore? it’s been years-”

 

“baby, it’s been years since _i_ saw you and i didn’t hate you. i fell in love with you.”

 

it’s the first time one of them has said something like that, and they both know it. as peter registers what happens, he’s about to backtrack and harry moves to say something, too and-

 

the door swings open.

 

“boys!” aunt may exclaims. she is the classic definition of a motherly figure, her brown hair is tied in a bun and she’s wearing a dark blue cardigan with a lighter blue shirt. “peter!” she moves to hug him.

 

“hi aunt may!” he hugs her back. “this is-”

 

“harry!” she doesn’t hug him because of the lasagna, but she cups his face and kisses his cheek. “it’s been so long!”

 

“aunt may,” harry smiles wide. “it’s great to see you.”

 

“my boys,” she says. “all grown up. i’m being a bad host, come in, come in!” she ushers them inside. “let me take this off your hands,” she takes the glass dish from harry and puts in on a table in the kitchen.

 

her home is small, but it’s certainly a _home_. there are pictures hung up on cream colored walls, a floral patterned couch in the middle, and an oak coffee table next to the couch. books and knick-knacks line the shelves. a record player sits in a corner.

 

“peter, dear, would you mind setting the table?” she asks.

 

“yeah, sure.” peter walks into the kitchen.

 

harry moves to follow. “i should probably help.”

 

“oh, nonsense.” aunt may says. “peter’s a big boy, he can do it on his own. sit down,” she motions to the couch. “i have so many things to show you.”

 

peter comes back a few minutes later, holding three mugs of tea, only to see multiple photo albums spread out against the coffee table, may and harry huddled around one in her lap.

“what are you guys doing?” peter sets the mugs on the little bit of empty space there is on the table and sits down next to harry.

 

“looking at some old photos,” harry says. “listen pete, i know i’m in most of these and i know we were ugly but look,” harry points at a picture of 8-year-old peter on his blue bike, with a tall blue flag in the back. 8-year-old harry is wearing a red helmet, posed next to a razor scooter. “ _ugly_ ugly.”

 

“oh, stop it,” may lightly hits harry. “you two were little angels. now you’re big angels.”

 

“look at this one,” peter points to another photo on the same page. harry and peter are 10 years old in that one and dressed like shaggy and scooby-doo, respectively. they’re both holding halloween baskets.

 

“should we do it again this year?” harry nudges.

 

“oh, for sure.” peter confirms.

 

later, may is appreciating the lasagna over dinner. “harry, dear, did you make this?”  
  
“oh no, i’m a disaster in the kitchen. this is all pete.” harry smiles at him.

 

“i learned from the best.” peter winks.

 

“stop it,” aunt may says, with no malice at all. “if you two would like to come over again, i can show you how to make my ravioli.”

 

harry feels warm and can’t help himself from smiling. “i’d love to.”

 

“may, there’s something we should tell you.” peter says seriously, out of the blue. he takes harry’s hand under the table. “harry and i… we’re together. like, _together_ together.”

 

“peter! you can’t scare a woman like that.” may gasps. “i know you two are a couple. i couldn’t approve more. harry’s a sweetheart.” may claps his shoulder.

 

“i’m glad you agree,” peter looks at harry. “because between you and me, he was so nervous to come here. he thought you wouldn’t like him, isn’t that crazy?”

 

“peter!” harry finds his voice.

 

”darling,” may takes harry’s hand on the table. “you’re family. i could never not love you.”

 

“thanks, may.” harry is choked up. a hole in his heart begins to repair itself. familial love wasn’t something he was used to and may’s rustic cooking and her smile and support overwhelms harry.

 

that night, peter drops harry off at his door.

 

“hey,” harry says quietly, holding on to the sides of peter’s coat. “about what you said earlier, before may opened the door.”

 

“oh,” peter realizes. “you don’t have to-”

 

“i love you, too.” harry smiles softly. it’s true. he didn’t know he could feel this much, let alone love this much, but he guesses if he had to pick anyone to fall in love with, it’d have to be peter. he doesn’t lie when he says it and likes the way he feels in his mouth. “i love you.” he repeats.

 

peter looks at him like he’s the last thing he’ll ever look at. peter rubs a thumb across his cheekbone before leaning in to give him a sweet parting kiss. “i’ll see you later, baby.”

 

harry’s heartstrings pull a little bit. “bye.”

 

harry really underestimated this whole “i’m dating spider-man” thing. he didn’t expect anything to come out of it, _maybe_ some role-play bedroom action, but nothing too major.

 

that idea stops when harry opens his door to find peter in his suit, bleeding all over the kitchen island.

 

harry drops everything. “peter!” he scrambles over to get to peter.

 

peter looks up. “oh. hey, babe.”

 

“don’t “hey, babe,” me. you’re bleeding!” harry looks at peter. his suit is torn and the mask is bloodied next to peter. he has cuts all over his face and there’s blood everywhere and there’s a long gash on his arm-

 

“peter, holy fuck, are you trying to stitch that yourself?”

 

peter pauses before quietly saying, “yes.”

 

harry takes the needle and thread from him and starts to patch peter up. “you got blood on my countertop.”

 

“better than your couch.” ignoring harry’s “aw, so considerate,” peter adds, “you should have seen the other guy.”

 

“what, is he completely unharmed?” harry jokes. it’s awful seeing his peter like this but seeing peter laugh makes it a little bit more bearable.

 

“hey, i beat him up pretty good. they don’t call me your friendly neighborhood spider-man for nothing.”

 

harry laughs softly. “seriously, though, peter, are you okay?”

 

“yeah, i’m alright. just gotta walk it off.” his hair falls in his face.

 

“peter,” harry is quiet, serious. “you could have died.”

 

“but i didn’t,” peter tries to match his tone.

 

“peter.” harry is now wiping the blood off him with a warm towel. there’s so much he wants to say like, i don’t know what i would do without you. be careful next time, please. it hurts me so much to see you like this. he doesn’t say anything.

 

“i know.” peter pauses. “i’m sorry, baby.”

 

“it’s just- i want you to be safe. i don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” harry says, before he adds, “that being said, you’re coming here every time you get your ass kicked. i’m going to clean you up and then make out with you. understand?”

 

peter smiles. “it’s a date.”

 

harry gets peter out of the spider-man suit and hums appreciatively, to which peter laughs at. he gets peter the yellow champion sweatshirt he likes and grey sweatpants, then cleans off the blood on the kitchen island.

 

“you better not get blood on this sweatshirt,” harry warns, when he passes it to peter.

 

“i’ll try.” peter says from the couch. he opens his arms to make harry sit with him. when he does, peter swings an arm around harry’s shoulders and holds his other hand.

 

“you’re needy when you’ve lost a gallon of blood.” harry comments.

 

“i’m always needy.”

 

harry smiles, exhaling into peter’s hair. he kisses the top of peter’s head and moves down, to his cheek, his nose, the bandages over his wounds. “i love you,” he whispers before kissing peter’s lips.

 

and they fall asleep like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive never written a parksborn w/ spidey as a main plot point but theres a first time 4 everything


	7. i'm where i wished i would be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we did it chief! if u still stuck around thank you so much for reading my fic i love u so much

june brings the sunlight and the tone in new york lifts up a little with the hope of summer coming.

 

harry takes a walk down his city, enjoying the warm weather and breathing in everything. new york is full of rats and smog and loud yelling, but it’s this: walking on an empty street in the sun, smelling the clean air and feeling the light breeze that makes harry fall in love all over again.

 

he takes a detour to a small family-owned bagel place, walks out scrolling on his phone in one hand and holding a parchment wrapped marble rye bagel in the other hand.

 

harry’s plans get rudely interrupted when something grabs his bagel and pulls it into an alley.

 

“for real?” he says, under his breath. come on, new york, he was having a good time. harry walks into the alley because he might get stabbed, but he also might get his bagel back. he’s not going to walk back 8 blocks to get another one.

 

when he steps in, he doesn’t expect to see spider-man, hanging upside down. his mask is off and he’s chewing on harry’s bagel. “hey, babe.”

 

“that’s mine,” harry says, paying no attention to the suit or the hanging upside down.

 

“come on,” peter says, gesturing to himself. “nothing?”

 

harry says sternly, “the bagel.”

 

“okay, fine,” peter hands it over.

 

“what’s up?” harry’s demeanor completely changes after he takes a bite from the bagel. he smiles at peter.

 

peter huffs, but starts to grin. “wanted to see my boy, harold.” ignoring harry’s “ew,” peter gestures to himself again. “thought he’d like the view, seeing how much he likes the suit.”

 

“shut up,” harry says, embarrassed.

 

peter retorts, “make me.”

 

harry smiles, taking a step closer and cupping peter’s face. he kisses him, slow and soft and sweet. when he pulls away, he sees peter’s eyes open and give harry a smile even sweeter.

 

“that was nice,” peter murmurs, not taking his eyes of harry’s mouth.

 

“this upside down thing is really doing it for me,” harry matches his tone.

 

“i know,” peter leans in again.

 

they kiss in the alley until peter’s radio sparks with static, talking about a blue 751 on plum or something like that.

 

peter pulls away for a final time and harry appreciates his red lips and kind eyes. “duty calls.”

 

“bye, spider-man.”

 

“see you later, mr. osborn.”

 

harry watches peter pull up to the top of the building, take a running start, and swing away. he slips out of the alley and continues his walk, bagel still in hand.

 

on harry’s birthday, he finds himself stuck in traffic. he’s sitting in the back of a taxi in the middle of rush hour. thank god he’s got the best view of the manhattan bridge in all of new york, right?

 

he bounces his foot impatiently and keeps glancing at his watch. at this rate, harry will make it to the restaurant in 14-17 business days. he’s not going to yell at the driver, because that’s rude and harry is better than that. but it doesn’t mean that he’s not better than turning his phone on and off repeatedly.

 

the restaurant is 20 minutes away from where harry is and his phone tells him that he’ll get there in forty.

 

_harry [6:40pm]: babe_

 

_harry [6:40pm]: i dont think im going to be able to make it in time_

 

_harry [6:41pm]: im sorry honey_

 

_harry [6:41pm]: im at the bridge rn theres just so much traffic_

 

_peter <3 [6:45pm]: say no more fam _

 

harry looks at the text in confusion.

 

_harry [6:45pm]: bitch what_

 

harry plays helix jump on his phone mindlessly for a few minutes, thinking nothing of the weird texts from peter.

 

_peter [6:51pm]: lookie_

 

harry looks out the window and sees nothing. it’s the same as it was five minutes ago, they haven’t moved in traffic, there’s still car horns going off every few seconds. the water is murky as always and there’s the bridge, in all its- oh.

 

he sees it now, the webbing across the metal poles of the bridge. it’s formed to say “i love you.” harry swallows and he wants to cry. he’s so fucking lucky. he doesn’t deserve someone nearly as good as peter is, doesn’t deserve to be loved by someone like peter. but he is. and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. he loves peter with the power to light up a whole damn planet.

 

“i think i’m gonna walk.” harry tries not to sound teary. he gets out of the car after paying his driver and reaches the sidewalk, leaning on the railing that separates him from the water below. he just keeps looking at it. the fact that it’s meant for him. harry never thought he was capable of love, much less being loved, but here he is. it’s mesmerizing.

 

harry gets swept off his feet metaphorically, but literally when he gets taken up into the air by his beautiful, stupid, spandex-wearing hero.

 

they land on the top of the bridge and peter takes his mask off. harry is blown away. he’s already so full of love but in front of him stands his dream boy, hair moving with the breeze and smiling at him. his dimples come out and the setting sky illuminates his skin in the dark. he’s ethereal. he’s amazing. he’s peter parker, the love of his life.

 

“happy birthday.” peter breathes, putting his hands on harry’s hips.

 

“thank you,” harry says. “i would say i love you, but that’s not strong enough to describe how i feel about you.” he decides to try and find the words to say. “you’re it for me. you’re my forever.”

 

peter holds him tighter. “you’re my forever, too. i’m so in love with you.” he moves in closer.

 

“god, tell me about it.” harry closes the space between them and kisses peter, pouring in all his love into peter.

 

harry’s hand grips peter’s hair tighter, as the other one stays on peter’s shoulder. the sun has fully set by now and all the light that’s left is in the city lights and in their hearts. they spend harry’s birthday sitting on top of the bridge on a blanket, eating takeout and swinging their legs off the ledge.

 

while they eat and laugh, harry realizes he’s done it. he’s found home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we did it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1 harry got his happy ending. i love my boy. if u want u can view this as tasm3 cause we were robbed. the world would be a better place had we have gotten tasm3. harry and pete have gone through so much pain they deserve the whole world so i gave it to them. they deserve a soft romcom so i made it

**Author's Note:**

> pls smash that like button and comment to give the writer (ur boy) life


End file.
